Endlong into Midnight
by kayjay216
Summary: With Voldemort winning the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger goes searching for help, and finds it: at the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart. Crossover with Angel.
1. The City of the Distance

**Author's Notes**: I'm posting this fic a little experimentally, to see what people think of it; my devoted beta reader **powerof3** thinks it's good, but she's a little biased in the matter. We'll see how it goes. If you like it, if you hate it, either way, do please let me know. This is a work in progess and could yet see significant revision.

This fic takes place several years in the future from "As All the Heavens Were a Bell".

The idea of the Buffyverse stumbling onto the Potterverse is not entirely mine; credit must be given to Mariner and her fic "The End of the Beginning". This fic has no official relation or connection to her fic, and no disrespect to her work is intended.

_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and _Angel_ are copyright persons and entities including but not limited to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, and Sandollar Entertainment. Harry Potter is copyright persons and entities including but not limited to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Lastly, this fic is dedicated to **Nicci**, for reading it, and to **Sammie**, for answering questions.

* * *

_Chapter One  
The City of the Distance_

Hermione Granger thought grimly to herself that if this plan didn't work, she might as well stay in the United States: there was nothing left in England worth going back for.

The Wizarding war against Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard ever to walk the British Isles, was not going well. The only person who could have held Voldemort at bay was long dead, and the only person who could have saved them from Voldemort was trapped in a house of shadows, unable to tell friend from foe or real from imagined.

Hermione shoved down the guilt over that and straightened up awkwardly as her seatmate moved out into the aisle, allowing her to step out from underneath the overhead compartment. She winced, feeling her knee pop. It hadn't healed right after she took that curse. Of course, nothing had gone right since she left Hogwarts seven years ago.

When it became obvious early on that Harry's grand plan to defeat Voldemort was spectacularly ill-founded, Hermione did what she always did in times of crisis: go to the library. She was determined to read every book in the Wizarding world if she had to, but there had to be a way to help Harry somewhere. It took her years of crisscrossing travels, but finally she stumbled upon mention of a Muggle called a Watcher who had aided the Order with useful magic during the First War. If there was one, there had to be another, Hermione decided, and after innumerable paper cuts, she found mention of a Watcher in Los Angeles. He might or might not have been the same person from the First War, but by this point, Hermione would take anything. She booked her ticket to Los Angeles and didn't look back.

Finally, she made her way out of the plane, down the jetway, and into the Los Angeles International Airport. Following the signs, she found her luggage in Baggage Claim and groaned at the size of it. Muttering a small Featherweight Charm, to make the suitcase easier to handle, she headed out to Ground Transportation and hailed a cab.

"Wolfram and Hart," she said.

* * *

When the cab pulled up before an imposing skyscraper, Hermione paid the driver with some of the American money she'd had changed at Gringotts, struggling a bit with the unfamiliar bills – they were all the same size and color. She realized rather grumpily that she wouldn't make her best impression toting a suitcase, so with a quick look to make sure no one was watching, she hit the suitcase with a Shrinking Charm and slipped it into her pocket. Not like these Americans noticed much anyhow.

That taken care of, she strode into the lobby and tried not to be impressed. _Very American_, she thought, and then, spotting the ornamental grass growing beside the lifts, amended that to _very Californian_.

A very blonde receptionist spotted her and trilled happily, "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart! Can I help you? Who's your appointment with?"

"I don't have an appointment," Hermione said, coming over to the desk.

"Oh," said the receptionist. "Do you want to make one? You could have just called, you know. You didn't have to come all the way from England."

"I'm looking for someone. He's called the Watcher . . .? _A_ Watcher, perhaps?"

"Watcher, Watcher . . ." The receptionist picked through a Rolodex. "Named Watcher . . . no one named Watcher . . . oh." Her face clouded. "You probably mean Wes. Look, you really don't want to talk to him."

Throwing caution to the winds, Hermione pulled out her wand, not quite sure what she would do with it. "I think I do."

"Whoa, whoa!" The receptionist raised her hands. "Okay, I'll call him. You don't have to go all threatening. God, everyone's always threatening me. I should ask Angel for a raise." She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Wes? You have a visitor."

Hermione could hear the angry noise from the receiver.

"I'm sending her back!" chirped the receptionist, hanging up. She pointed toward the stairs. "Behind the stairs, office on the right."

"Thank you," said Hermione, putting her wand away again. Bracing herself for a hostile reaction, she walked to the open office door and paused.

The office was dimly lit. The desk chair was facing away from her, but Hermione could see an arm on the armrest and knew the office was occupied. After a moment, the man spoke. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy right now and can't help you, so you should find someone else to talk to."

"I'm afraid there is no one else to talk to," Hermione said crisply. "You're going to help me."

The man – Wes – turned to face her.

Hermione felt her stomach sink. There was no way this was the same man who had helped in the First War. He was far too young, only in his thirties. Still, he was the Wizarding world's last shot.

Before she started speaking, however, she noticed one thing: the distinct smell of alcohol. Pulling her wand out, Hermione pointed it at the man and said, "_Sobrietus_." The man blinked, instantly sober. Satisfied that he would listen to her, Hermione put her wand away, closed the door, and started to tell him why.

She outlined the Wizarding world for him, told him about Voldemort's rise to power and the fateful prophecy linking him and Harry Potter. She described their early, unsuccessful efforts against Voldemort, then, ashamed, tried to skim over Harry's imprisonment in Grimmauld Place. She spoke about the massive casualties in the Wizarding world, and choked up as she touched on the losses of dear friends. She poured out everything she had that might possibly convince this Wes to help her and then bit her lip, slightly demoralized after reminding herself just how bad things were.

Wes steepled his fingers and seemed about to speak, when a voice behind Hermione said, "This one is different."

Hermione jumped. Wes's face clouded and went complicated. "I don't know about in ancient times," he said, slightly acid, "but in modern times we knock before entering rooms with closed doors."

"When I was king, there was no door that closed before me." The speaker stepped into Hermione's field of view and she jumped again. Hermione had seen Lord Voldemort up close more than once, but this creature seemed . . . wronger, somehow. Clad in a red leather jumpsuit, with uncannily blue eyes, it cocked its head and stared at Hermione. "This one is different," it repeated.

"We're all different, Illyria," Wes said wearily. "This is Hermione Granger and she's from London."

"I'm a witch," Hermione said. "That's what's different about me."

Illyria tilted its head to one side. "Show me."

Wes looked mildly interested in seeing a demonstration of magic, so, unsure exactly what she had to prove to this blue creature, Hermione pulled her wand out and pointed it at the door. "_Colloportus_," she said, making a swishing motion.

The door swung shut and sealed itself, a film appearing around its edges.

"_Alohomora_," she said, the first spell she ever learned.

The film vanished and the door sprung open again.

Illyria looked thoughtful, as did Wes. "Fascinating," said Illyria. "I have not seen magic like this since the days when I walked the earth as a god."

"I think the Wizarding world has gone underground since then," Hermione said, dry.

"This one can do magic, also," Illyria continued, indicating Wes, "but he does not wield it as you do. I wish to know more."

"As do I," said Wes, directing a sharper gaze on her than he had previously. "The wand is interesting. I've seen ritual-less magic before, but the style of incantation is different."

Hermione started telling her story again, making sure to highlight the story of the Muggle Watcher who had helped out during the First War. As she spoke, she could see Wes reluctantly become interested in her story.

When she finished speaking, Wes said, "A Watcher helped . . . intriguing. I hadn't heard of – I mean, we're taught some magic at the Watchers' Academy, but certainly nothing like your world is. Of course, I haven't been a Watcher in several years."

"So you'll help me?"

"I suppose – I'll have to clear it with Angel first, of course. My boss." He reached a hand across the desk. "I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, by the way," he said.

Hermione took it. "Thank you."

* * *

Wesley excused himself shortly afterwards, saying he had to conference with Angel. Illyria trailed after him like some sort of spooky puppy. She waited an appropriate minute, then resized her suitcase and pulled out a set of Extendable Ears. George was still making them, even though their usefulness was dwindling. Thinking a moment, she added an Extendable Eyeball and whispered the Locator Charm, setting Wesley as the object.

About thirty seconds later, she was seeing and hearing with the Extendables. ". . . really quite remarkable," Wesley was saying to a frowning man. "I don't even know where to start. Her name's Hermione Granger, she's from London, and she's a witch, but she uses a wand to perform magic. She told me about some dictator named Voldemort who's been terrorizing the Wizarding population since the 1970s . . ."

Wesley had barely started speaking when someone entered the room. Hermione's view was briefly occluded by a lot of black leather, but the newcomer stepped out of the way, allowing Hermione to see that he had platinum blond hair and a gleeful expression on his face.

"What's this, having a bit of fun without me?" the newcomer demanded. "Should know better than that! What's afoot, then?"

"Get out, Spike," the frowning man said. _That must be Angel_, Hermione thought.

"I think not. Say, is this about that English bird Harmony was telling me about? What's her story, then? Harmony said she was scary."

With a resigned expression, Wesley began narrating Hermione's story for Spike and Angel. Angel listened with the same frown, while Spike looked happier by the second.

"Well, then!" said Spike, once Wesley was done speaking. "Let me make sure I've got this straight. This Hermione wants us to go over there and help her win her war against someone who makes Peaches here and I look like fluffy bunny rabbits, and the only person who can defeat him is stark raving bonkers, am I right?"

"That'd be right, yes," said Wesley, shooting a look at Angel, who still hadn't changed expression.

"And we're facing incredible odds against us?"

"She didn't say as much, but one would think so."

"Sounds like fun! When're we leaving?"

"_Spike_," Angel said.

"What?" Spike looked innocent. "Well, clearly we've got to help the girl out! Aren't we here to save the world from the big evil?"

Angel finally showed some expression, looking torn. The idea of saving the world from the big evil clearly appealed to him, but Spike's sheer obnoxiousness wasn't doing much for him.

"There's just one problem," he said after a moment. "How?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Wesley.

"How are we going to do this? What's our plan for winning this thing? I don't want to go over there and just wander around until we stumble on a strategy. We need a game plan intact before we go over there. Too much has happened because we didn't plan enough."

Wesley and Spike were silent. Hermione felt her stomach drop. This was the part she'd been counting on them to figure out: how to beat Voldemort. She had flown across an ocean and a continent with the knowledge that they would help her because they had to, but it was looking as if they were as impotent as she.

Hermione's vision was obscured again, this time by a flash of red, and then Illyria spoke. "I will help."

Judging by the expressions on Spike and Angel's faces, they were as unnerved by Illyria as Hermione was. "Doesn't _anyone_ around here understand what a closed door means?" Angel complained, apparently mostly to himself.

Finally, Wesley said to Illyria, "Why?"

"My reasons are my own," Illyria said, imperious. "But I wish to help. And to see more of this Wizarding world."

"Well, that's that settled, then," Spike said. "We'll just take Big Blue here and sic her on this Voldemort. Be home in time for tea, we will."

Angel seemed to be thinking. "All right, we're going. That's the four of us in this room."

Spike looked pleased with himself.

"You're only going because you'd find a way to tag along if I didn't let you," Angel said, and Spike's expression flickered. "Wesley, you're responsible for keeping an eye on Illyria. I'll let Gunn and Lorne know what we're doing and that they're staying here. Get Miss Granger in here, Wesley. I'll call Harmony and tell her to prep the jet."

Hermione recognized this as her cue to extract the Extendables. She had them rolled up again and in the suitcase before the door opened to admit Wesley, here to fetch her.

"Miss Granger?" he said. "Angel would like to meet with you."

She slipped her suitcase back into her pocket and trotted across the lobby behind Wesley. The receptionist – Harmony, Angel had called her – was busy making several calls. Wesley tapped on the door, then entered, gesturing Hermione in also.

The occupants had moved around a bit, but otherwise all was as Hermione had seen with the Extendable Eyeballs. Spike sat sprawled on the couch, while Angel was sitting behind a massive desk. Illyria was staring out the window and paid no notice to the door opening.

"Miss Granger?" Angel said. "I'm Angel. I run the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram & Hart. We've decided to help you."

Hermione didn't let on that she already knew this, instead saying fervently, "Oh, thank you."

Angel continued, "We're going to leave tomorrow morning. I'd like to introduce you to the rest of the team. Wesley you know already. That's Spike on the sofa and Illyria by the window."

"Charmed," Spike said. Illyria said nothing.

"I'm sure," Hermione said.

"I'll have a car take you to your hotel, and we'll pick you up when it's time to leave in the morning." Angel stood up and stuck a hand over the desk. "Good to meet you, Miss Granger."

Hermione shook hands. "You have no idea."

* * *

Wolfram & Hart chauffeured her by limo to a posh hotel in Beverly Hills. Hermione had suspected that their pockets ran deep. She spent a while being both horrified and mollified by the sheer decadence of the accommodations, then decided she had better enjoy this brief break from the war zone. An hour spent flipping through the television channels confirmed her belief that all American television was rubbish.

Exhausted from the jet lag, she made a journal entry and then fell asleep early. She was woken from a restful night's sleep too early by a phone call informing her that a car would be by to pick her up in an hour. Hermione quickly showered and dressed and was waiting in the lobby for the limousine.

She was taken to an airfield she didn't quite catch the name of, where a private jet was waiting. The crew from Wolfram & Hart were all already aboard. Hermione noticed that all the window shades were down and wondered.

Spike was inspecting the contents of the minibar, while Angel was seated already and, Hermione guessed from his scowl, deep in a brood. Illyria was alone at the back of the plane, clearly absorbed in its own thoughts. Wesley stood to greet her and offered a hand. "Good morning, Miss Granger."

"Good morning," she said in return, choosing a place to sit and buckling her seatbelt.

"No luggage?" Wesley asked.

Hermione dug in her pocket and showed him her miniaturized suitcase. "Shrinking Charm," she said. "Far easier to carry this way."

Wesley made what she was beginning to think of as his Mr. Spock face again. He clearly didn't know what to make of this strange magic, but wanted to know more. She couldn't blame him, remembering how she'd felt when she'd found out about magic.

After that, Wesley subsided back into his own thoughts, every now and then watching Illyria. The flight passed fairly quietly, Angel and Wesley spending most of it brooding, Spike spending it toying with the mini liquor bottles from the minibar, and Illyria doing . . . whatever. Hermione spent her time rereading _Hogwarts, A History_ for the umpteenth time in an attempt to calm her nerves. As the plane touched down, she reluctantly admitted it hadn't helped much.

The flight seemed to have gone much quicker than it should have. Angel mumbled something about a special jet when she said something, though, so she let it drop.

It took some time to unload them all off the plane, but somehow they managed to all squeeze into a waiting limousine. "From the London office," Wesley said as he helped Hermione in.

"Well, where to now?" Spike said, once the doors were closed behind them. "Been a few years since I've been out this way. Should be interesting to see how some of the old haunts have fared."

"I need to make some calls," Hermione said. "Not with a phone," she added, forestalling Wesley. "There's somewhere I have to go to make them. Could someone tell the driver . . ."

Angel was knocking on the partition, which obligingly rolled down. "Yes?" asked the driver.

Hermione gave directions to a particular section of Charing Cross Road.

"Yes, miss," said the driver, and smoothly the limousine rolled away.

"We've got a few minutes," Angel said. "I want to know more about this Voldemort, if we're going to be fighting him."

Hermione sighed and launched into the thumbnail history of Lord Voldemort. Born Tom Marvolo Riddle in the 1920s, he made a name for himself at Hogwarts and then dropped out of sight, resurfacing in the 1960s and 1970s as the terrible Lord Voldemort. He had been on a steady rise to dominance until, in the early 1980s, a misheard prophecy sent him to Harry Potter's house in Godric's Hollow. Harry had been only a baby, but Voldemort had been unable to kill him. Hermione skimmed over the fourteen Voldemort-free years and picked her story up again with Voldemort's resurrection in June 1995, almost ten years ago.

"He's been getting stronger ever since," she finished. "He's got an army of followers he calls Death Eaters, and some of them are as bad as he is. We don't even know how many people he and his followers have killed. Muggles, too, not just wizards. He's not too fond of Muggles."

"Muggles?" asked Angel.

"Non-magical people," Hermione said, knowing how inaccurate that description was. "Like you all."

"Somehow," Spike said, "I doubt anyone in this car is a Muggle. Go on then. I want to find out how this ends."

"It doesn't," Hermione said. "We're still fighting him. But we're completely outnumbered – we're only just holding him off. Everyone thinks it's only a matter of time before he takes over completely. I couldn't live with that, so I went looking for help, and I found you."

Everyone except for Illyria appeared to be processing this. Angel said after a moment, "And there's no one strong enough to beat him?"

_Oh dear_. She had been avoiding coming to this. The shame over this still kept her up some nights.

"No, there is," said Spike. "Remember, Harvey or some bloke like that. Only you said he'd gone round the twist. How'd he get that way?"

Hermione hesitated. "Harry Potter, the boy Voldemort couldn't kill, had a prophecy about him saying he was destined to kill Voldemort – or be killed by him. The summer after our sixth year, Harry and Ron and I, we went after Voldemort, trying to track him down and weaken him enough to defeat him. But Voldemort was ready for us, stronger than us. There was a battle –"

She broke off again. Her eighteenth year had not been a happy one. "It was fairly clear that Harry wasn't ready to fight Voldemort, whatever he thought. Voldemort was sending Death Eaters after him. So we . . . after a while we put Harry where the Death Eaters couldn't get at him."

Wesley seemed to understand there was more to the story. Looking at her piercingly, he said, "And when was this?"

"May 1999. It was only supposed to be temporary. We had people coming by every day to check on him, talk to him, train him so he could fight Voldemort. But something happened; no one's sure what, but . . ."

"He's gone round the twist," Spike said. "Lovely. So your mythical hero's been barking for five years now, and nobody's bothered to do anything about it. Well, I have a plan. Let's get him some Prozac and then go sightseeing."

"It's not that simple." Hermione didn't know when she'd last been this ashamed. She had been in on the decision to lock Harry in Grimmauld Place, and while it had seemed the right thing to do at the time, she'd doubted it ever since. _At least he's alive_, she told herself. _As long as he's alive, there's still hope_.

"I want to know more about these Death Eaters," Angel said. "So they're, what, Voldemort's acolytes? Followers?"

"They're his followers and his army. Wizards, mostly, a few witches, who believe what he believes – that pureblood wizards are better than Muggle-borns like me, that Muggles are an inferior race that aren't quite human. They pledge allegiance to him and carry out his orders. There's a mark he makes them get, a tattoo on their left forearm, and he controls them that way."

"Sounds familiar," Wesley said.

"Nature abhors a vacuum."

"How many of them are there?" asked Angel.

"We haven't been able to pin down an exact number. We're fairly sure most of the Slytherins that left Hogwarts in the last five years have joined him, so he's got a base of at least 100 young Death Eaters – we've managed to capture a few, but we haven't made much of a difference.

"Then there's his old core of Death Eaters, the ones that were with him the first time around. His leadership structure is drawn from these. There's fifteen to twenty of these that we know about, but many of his Death Eaters the first time around were never caught. He's added more older Death Eaters since he came back. He has Death Eaters throughout the Ministry and controlling the media. We're incredibly outnumbered."

"How many of you are fighting?" Wesley asked.

Hermione ran through the current membership of the Order of the Phoenix in her head before answering. "About 25 of us are seriously fighting, putting most of our efforts towards the war. Then there's maybe another 25, no more than 40, who help out when we ask for it. There's a few members in France, and one in Romania."

Angel and Spike seemed to be processing this. Hermione added, "You might be thinking that 125 to 60 isn't such bad odds, but that's not counting Voldemort's dark creatures. He's convinced the giants to fight for him, plus there's the Dementors, the werewolves, and the vampires."

It couldn't be her imagination that Wesley quirked an eyebrow and Angel looked away when she said the word "vampire."

"He's been making overtures to the goblins," she said, "but so far they've rebuffed him. Rebuffed us too, for that matter."

"Goblins?" asked Spike. "There's a new one on me."

"They run the banks."

Wesley seemed about to ask something else, but the limousine drew to a stop and the driver politely announced that they had arrived. Hermione was both cheered and chilled by seeing the Leaky Cauldron again. The others looked a little blank, reminding Hermione of the first time she'd visited Diagon Alley with her parents.

"You cannot mean to tell me," said Spike, "that the Wizarding world is in the back of an HMV store."

"No," said Hermione, irked. Apparently she wasn't the only one annoyed by Spike; Angel's shoulders had a set to them that said he was probably moments from throttling Spike. "The Wizarding world is, most of the time, hidden from Muggles. I've got to cast a charm on you. Close your eyes."

Obligingly, everyone – except Illyria, who continued to stare at a Burger King in fascination – closed their eyes. Hermione pulled out her wand again and, trying her best to be discreet, waved it at the group and muttered, "_Oculus Acuos._"

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the spell's side effects, which surrounded the group in a brief fuschia haze. Hermione comforted herself with the fact that this was London and even if someone had noticed the group turning purple, they would never have said anything.

"Open them," she said, and watched the bewilderment blossom on Wesley's face as he realized he was now standing in front of a grimy, small pub called The Leaky Cauldron.

"Welcome to Wizarding London," Hermione said. "This way," she added, and gestured that they should follow her into the pub.

There were many things Voldemort had changed, but, Hermione thought to herself, he would never be able to change the Leaky Cauldron. According to stories, it had looked exactly this way during the First War, thirty years ago, except that the bartender and owner Tom possibly still had a few teeth then. As usual, it was packed with witches and wizards waiting to get started on their shopping – the Ministry had limited shopping hours and required all shoppers to have a Ministry escort, although Hermione privately figured it was so they could keep an eye on who was purchasing what.

Tom the bartender came scuttling over as soon as he spotted Hermione and her group. "Miss Hermione!" he said, smiling toothlessly at her. "And what'll it be for you today?"

"A parlor, Tom, and a fire. I've got to see a man about a wolf."

"Ah," said Tom, dropping a gratuitous and knowing wink. He gestured. "This way." He led Hermione's motley group through the crowds of witches and wizards making too-loud conversation to the very back parlor. Tom snapped his fingers and immediately a hearty fire roared into life in the fireplace. "Give it a moment and it should be just right," he said. "I'll be out front if you needs me."

Hermione waited until Tom had closed the door behind him, and then spelled the door again. "_Colloportus_." It wasn't the most secure of the locking charms, but it would keep most of the ordinary patrons out.

"What's going on?" Angel asked.

"I've got to talk to someone. Be quiet. The walls have ears."

One of the portraits chose that moment to make a rude remark about Angel's hair, which caused him to frown and shut up.

Hermione grabbed a palmful of Floo powder from the jar on the mantel and knelt by the hearth, ruing what this was going to make her knees feel like when she got up. Doubtlessly the Floo Network was being watched – it had been monitored off and on since her Hogwarts days – but at the moment she really had no other way to communicate with the rest of the Order. Dumbledore's time-honored method of communication, the modified Patronus, was too risky to use near the Ministry. Aided by Peter Pettigrew, the Ministry had worked out a way to intercept the messages. They couldn't understand them, but they could prevent them from reaching their intended destination, which caused a deal of trouble.

Casting the Floo powder into the fire, Hermione said, "Remus Lupin."

After a moment, Lupin's head appeared in the fire, causing some gasps of surprise from behind her, which she ignored. "Hermione?" he said. "What's going on?" He looked behind her and saw the team from Wolfram & Hart. He raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn't say anything.

"Darling, I've been shopping, only I've gotten too many packages. I can't possibly carry them all home myself."

Lupin's face went amused. "I suppose you'll be needing me to bring the car then, darling."

"Oh, would you? I've got so much to show you – I think you'll really like what I've bought."

"I'll be there soon, darling," Lupin said. His head disappeared from the fire and the flames darkened and went out.

"Who –" Angel started.

Hermione cut him off. "A friend. Don't ask questions."

The portrait giggled. Hermione was ninety-nine percent sure that portrait was reporting back to the Ministry; why couldn't Tom have put them in the other parlor? Too late now.

* * *

Lupin was as good as his word, showing up with the car fifteen minutes later. Without saying much, he herded the five of them out to where his tiny and ancient Vauxhall Nova was waiting at the curb.

"Oh no," said Spike. "We are not all fitting in that thing. Look at that! It's smaller than Peaches's –"

"_Spike_," Angel said again. "Get in."

"You'll fit," said Lupin. "Don't worry. How about we let Hermione have the front seat?"

Wesley climbed in first, followed by Angel and Spike, and lastly Illyria, who had said nothing since they got off the plane. Hermione wasn't sure which was worse, the random imperious observations, or the eerie, staring silence. Once she was seated and buckled, she turned to look at the Wolfram and Hart team over her right shoulder. "Not so bad, is it?" she asked.

The four of them were sitting comfortably in the back seat, which was stretched a la Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia (which was still wild in the Forbidden Forest, as far as she knew.) Remus had asked Arthur Weasley to work the spells on his secondhand Nova so the Order had its own secure and Ministry-proof people mover, even if he did tend to get stuck in London traffic. Hermione herself preferred using the Underground to London traffic, but she had considered the feasibility of taking Illyria on the tube and decided against it.

Hermione turned back to the front as Remus climbed into the car, turning the engine over. With some fuss, it sputtered into life.

"'Darling?'" Remus said, putting on his blinker and waiting to pull out into traffic. "Since when have I been 'darling' to you?"

"You know as well as I do that some witch is listening to everything that goes on in that fireplace, even if she doesn't pay attention to who's saying it. And anyway," Hermione said, "I've brought help. This is Angel, and Spike, and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and Illyria. We've got a chance now, Remus." She turned back to the backseat. "I'd like you all to meet Remus Lupin. He's also working to defeat Lord Voldemort."

Lupin looked grim at that statement, but said nothing more. A few minutes of idling in the London traffic passed, and he said, "So who are Angel, and Spike, and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and Illyria?"

From the back seat, Angel said, "I'm Angel, head of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart. It's a law firm."

"Yes, I've heard of the London office."

"Miss Granger came to us and asked for our help. She seemed to think there was some way we – or more particularly, Wesley – could help you against this Voldemort."

"Your war doesn't seem to be going particularly well," Wesley observed from behind Hermione. "At the very least, we're fresh troops with a different approach to fighting."

"No, it hasn't been going very well for a while now," Lupin said, his tone even.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is a Watcher," Hermione said. "Like the one from the First War."

Remus went still. "Is that what you've been searching for? I don't know how much help Mr. Wyndam-Pryce will be, then. Most of us couldn't do magic like he could."

"Most of us?"

Lupin nodded, checking the traffic in the rear-view mirror. "I knew the Watcher from the First War. Studied with him a bit, but I couldn't do magic his way. I lost track of him about ten years ago."

Hermione frowned. "All the journal I found said was that a Watcher had worked with you, and whatever he did helped, and turned the tide of the war."

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Lupin," Wesley said, "who was the Watcher?"

"Giles," Lupin said after a moment. "Rupert Giles."

Spike scoffed. "I'll be damned. Always knew there was more going on with him than we knew. And now we find he was in the middle of a bloody Wizarding war. Some gents have all the luck."

"Do you all know him, then?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," said Angel, terse. "Had a run-in with him earlier this year."

Hermione filed this away.

"How are your friends going to help us?" Remus asked, still with the same mild demeanor that could mean several things with him.

"We were hoping to devise a game plan, as it were, once we were on the ground," Wesley said.

"Or, in other words, you're not sure."

"That'd be the sum of it, yes," Spike said, cheerful. "I'm voting for kicking large amounts of ass, but nancy boy here is a little squeamish."

"I'm not –" Angel started, and then cut himself off. "I just want to make sure of what we're doing before we go rushing in here."

"Cause you know what they say, Angel rushes in where fools fear to tread," Spike quipped.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked Remus.

"I'm not sure what I'm thinking, Hermione," he said. "Bringing Muggles in to fight a Wizarding war – you understand, Giles stumbled across this by accident; he wasn't our idea. Our world isn't designed for Muggles, Hermione. You know that. But . . ."

He sighed. "They are something different. And you know we need something different. What we've got certainly isn't working very well."

He turned the car into the little side street that held his dingy apartment block and found a parking spot just wide enough to fit the Nova. "We're here."

* * *

Hermione Granger had first met Remus Lupin when he taught her third year Defense Against the Dark Arts class at Hogwarts, the premier Wizarding school in the Western Hemisphere. Back then he had merely been her shabby but incredibly competent professor, the first true Defense professor she had ever had at Hogwarts. After Voldemort's resurrection in 1995, though, she found that he was more than that: he had fought Voldemort in the First War, although everyone suspected him of being a spy for Voldemort towards the end. Lupin took up his duties with the Order of the Phoenix, the group Albus Dumbledore organized to fight Voldemort, once more.

Hermione only knew some of the things he had done for the Order of the Phoenix, but he had done enough that when Dumbledore was killed, Lupin stepped in and took over as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been running it well enough since 1997, but he was tired and fighting a losing battle. Albus Dumbledore had been the greatest wizard of the age and her much-beloved headmaster, but if she had a mentor she would say it was Lupin.

He was also a werewolf, but no one really thought much of that anymore. They had more important things to worry about than how Remus Lupin spent one night every twenty-eight days.

Lupin lived in a tiny, shabby flat in the back ways of Lambeth, useful because it was unremarkable. The flat, although dingy, was one of the most secure places in London because of the many charms that had been placed upon it by the Order of the Phoenix. The precautions made it a pain to get in sometimes when one was in a hurry, but they'd kept Lupin from being murdered in his bed.

He led the group up three flights of stairs to his third story flat, ushering them all in and locking the door's many locks behind them. With six people in it, the flat seemed even smaller than normal.

"Now then," said Lupin. "If any of you have any ideas for winning this war, I'd like to hear them, because I've been fighting it off and on since 1978 and you can see how well it's going. Thousands dead, let alone the Muggle deaths. A Death Eater as Minister for Magic. He's got Death Eaters in every department at the Ministry . . . save two," he added thoughtfully. "Arthur's kept them out of his. Not a single family in Wizarding Britain has not lost at least one family member. Some families have been completely eliminated. Voldemort doesn't like to go by halves, you see."

Wesley looked slightly dismayed by this news. Spike seemed to have taken it as a challenge. Angel was brooding again. Hermione didn't know what to make of Illyria.

"What have you tried so far to defeat him?" Wesley asked.

"During the First War? Nearly everything. It was hardly a war for the first few years of it. He started coming to power just as I went off to school. It was a terrible time. It seemed like no one was safe from him and his Death Eaters. Dumbledore was working against him, of course, but it wasn't always easy. My friends and I helped out once we left school, but we were only children," Lupin said. "There were me, and Sirius Black, and James and Lily Potter, and Peter Pettigrew, all in the first Order of the Phoenix. It wasn't anything we did that stopped him, though. I'm sure Hermione's told you about how Voldemort couldn't kill Harry Potter."

"She has."

"Neither could Harry kill Voldemort, though, not at the time," continued Lupin. "No one was sure why. But Voldemort was reduced to a spirit. He managed to grow a body back, however. That was in 1995. Dumbledore took up the fight immediately, but it was hard convincing people that Voldemort was really back. We lost a lot of ground the first few years because of the Ministry. And once we had our feet under us, Dumbledore was killed. It's been down ever since. We've never even come close to killing him."

"The problem is," said Hermione, taking up the narrative, "is that he _can't_ be killed, not as he is right now. Voldemort managed to find a way to split his soul into seven pieces and store them in these objects called Horcruxes. Destroy all the Horcruxes and you destroy Voldemort. Naturally, he's hidden them very well. Out of seven we've done . . ." She hesitated. "Two."

Spike looked a little dubious.

"Dumbledore was tracking down the Horcruxes before he was killed, and he got two of them done fairly quietly. Harry tried to take up and carry on, but Voldemort got wind of what he was doing and . . . things didn't go well. There was a fight, and people were hurt, and we had to retreat. Voldemort moved all the rest into even more secure locations, and killed everyone who might have known where they were. With no leads –" _and no Harry_, she added to herself – "we were pretty well stuck."

"I want to meet this Voldemort," Illyria said, speaking for the first time in hours.

Remus startled, evidently surprised that Illyria could speak at all.

"I want to meet this impostor who dares to walk in my power."

"Probably should have warned you, mate," Spike said. "Blue here always talks like this."

"Well, I'm sure Miss Granger and Mr. Lupin can ring Voldemort up and he'll make room for you in his busy social calendar," Wesley said to Illyria.

"Do not mock me, mayfly. I will help find this pretender. And then he will know real power."

"Sure that's godking-ese for 'crush him like a bug'," said Spike.

"Well, that seems settled then," Remus said, dry, but Hermione could tell he was unnerved. "Where are we going to put them up, Hermione?"

She hadn't thought this far ahead. Angel saved her by saying, "It would probably be best if we stayed at the Wolfram & Hart London office. I'm sure they have guest rooms, and we can use their transportation rather than you having to fight the traffic, Mr. Lupin."

Lupin considered this, then nodded approvingly. "Seems like it. You do know there's a Tube stop right by here, though."

Angel looked uncomfortable. "The Tube is . . . not good. Look, there's something I gotta come clean about, because we're obviously going to be spending a lot of time together and you've gotta know. I'm a . . . a vampire," he said. "Pointy fangs, blood drinking – no bad accent, though," he added.

Hermione blinked, shocked by this revelation. Angel was nothing like the vampire she'd met during her sixth year at Hogwarts, nor was he like the vampires she had fought during battles with Voldemort's minions. "But I saw you standing in sunlight in your office!"

"Necrotempered glass. I don't understand it, but Wolfram & Hart came up with it. Lets the sunlight in, keeps the ashy death out. Kinda nice, actually. One of the perks of working there. The cars are all equipped with it, so Spike and I can get around."

"Spike's a vampire _too?_"

"My biggest mistake," Angel said, sighing. "Go on, Spike, show her the face. I know you want to."

Spike looked to be thinking, just for a second – and then his face _changed_, thick ridges growing in over his eyes, which turned yellow, and an impressive set of fangs growing in. Hermione studied him for a moment, and could see Remus also looking academically bemused by Spike. Dark creatures were his specialty.

"Doesn't that _hurt?_" Hermione finally said.

Spike shook his head and reverted back to his human face. "You get used to it. Besides, who's to say I don't like the pain?" He looked entirely too mischievous.

"You don't have to worry about us going all 'grr' on you, like Cordelia, my – Cordelia would say," Angel said, looking pained when he mentioned Cordelia, whoever she was. "It's just – you know. We're still sunlight challenged and all that."

"Well," said Remus, who appeared to have said it just because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "It does explain the lack of people in the rear-view mirror."

Angel nodded. "We don't reflect."

"Makes doing your hair a bit of a bother," Spike added. "Just looking at Angel here ought to make that obvious, though."

"My hair is not –" Angel reached up to touch the back of his head, probably unconsciously. "There is nothing wrong with my hair."

"Really? Cause I heard a client the other day – forget their name, sorry – say your hair looked like you'd cut it with a weedeater."

"At least I don't look like I got lost on the way to a Billy Idol impersonator convention," Angel shot back, still worriedly touching his hair.

"Ah, Billy Idol again." Spike rolled his eyes. "I live in hope of the day that someone thinks of someone else to compare me to other than soddin' Billy Idol. Tired of hearing about him. Everywhere I go, it's always, 'You know, you look a bit like Billy Idol.'"

Remus, who had been watching the entire exchange with quiet amusement, cleared his throat and said, "It sounds like Wolfram & Hart should be able to take care of you. Do you need to use the phone to call a car?"

"Please," Angel said, giving Spike a dirty look. "If you wouldn't mind."

"This way." Remus stood and indicated that Angel should follow him.

Hermione, Wesley, and Spike were left sitting together in a slightly uneasy silence, Spike still grumbling to himself. Illyria had returned to its state of pretending everyone else didn't exist. After a moment, Wesley seemed to choose to ignore Spike and said, "I probably should have mentioned that my boss is a vampire before now. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Hermione said. "Mine is –" She paused. By rights, this was Lupin's secret to reveal. She settled on a wording. "– _differently abled_ also."

Wesley smiled, a little wryly. "Always interesting, lives like ours."

Angel came back in then, announcing that the car would be there shortly. The Wolfram & Hart team elected to wait outside for it, evidently having things to discuss – some possibly related to hair – so there were a flurry of goodbyes and then Hermione and Remus were left alone.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione repeated her earlier question.

Remus sighed and thought a bit. "If they really can help, Hermione . . . if they really can do something, then maybe, for the first time in a while, we might have a chance."

"If."

Remus smiled, slightly crookedly. "Chocolate Frog before you go?"

* * *

Hermione Apparated back to her small flat in Stepney and sat for a moment, considering the situation. "I don't know, Crookshanks," she said out of habit, although Crookshanks had died a few years ago. "I think all may yet be very well. The vampire thing, though, that's a bit odd."

Then she lay back and fell asleep.


	2. The Valley of Lost Time

_Chapter Two  
The Valley of Lost Time_

A phone call from Remus – both she and Remus were living like Muggles; it made them a little less detectable by the Ministry – woke her the next morning, informing her that the Wolfram & Hart team would be coming round the flat and she should proba­bly be there, since this was her operation. Hermione took a moment to wash up and then Apparated to the small blind alley just down the street from Remus's.

The Wolfram & Hart limo was waiting outside Remus's apartment block, look­ing distinctly out of place in Remus's rundown neighborhood. That meant the team was already there waiting for her. _Poor Remus_, Hermi­one thought, and quickened her steps.

She was slightly out of breath from jogging up the four flights of stairs. Not for the first time, she wished the lifts in Remus's building worked, but as Remus had noted grimly, one was safer taking the stairs.

Hermione knocked on Remus's door, heard the clattering of the many locks, and then saw Remus himself, opening the door with a smile. "Good morning, Hermio­ne," he said, gesturing her in and locking the door behind her.

All the blinds were down, making the dreary living room downright gloomy. There was a faint smell of burning in the air, and unless Hermione missed her guess, Spike looked slightly charred. From the matching teacups, Remus and Wesley had been chatting. Spike and Angel were bickering, something about astronauts, and Il­lyria was examining the shelves and shelves of books that had been shoved haphaz­ardly into Remus's flat.

Once Hermione was in the door, all conversation stopped and all eyes were on her. She took a deep breath. This was her plan: time to put it in ac­tion. She was 24 years old, saving the world, and she didn't have a clue how to do it.

"Good morning," she said to the group. "I think it's time to get started on this – whatever it is we're doing. I think you all need to know what it is we're up ag­ainst."

"What are you proposing we do, Hermione?" Remus asked.

She hesitated. "I think we need to go visit Harry."

Remus looked concerned. "Visit Harry? Are you sure that's wise? He's not ex­actly . . . rational, you know."

"We have wands, you know, Remus, and I'm sure these four can take care of themselves in a fight, if it came to that. Besides, we need him. _Neither can live_ . . ."

"We'll go, then, if that's what you want," Remus said, but he was obviously du­bious.

Angel and Spike needed a moment to wrap themselves securely in blankets be­fore going down. Wesley headed down to the car first to open the door for the two of them, and Illyria trailed after him, leaving Hermione and Remus alone for a mo­ment.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked. She valued Lupin's opinion, but he often had to be asked for it.

"Just a bit worried about Harry. It's been a while since I've seen him. And are Angel and Spike always like that?"

"You're asking me that after last night?"

Remus shook his head. "Let's go. Wait for me to lock up and I'll escort you down."

* * *

The smell of burning was stronger in the limousine, but politely, neither Hermione nor Lupin said anything. Lupin gave directions to Grimmauld Place and the driver set off on the journey up to St. Pancras. Hermione spent the journey mostly fretting over what state they would find Harry. The Harry she had met on her visits had varied wildly: sometimes he was almost lucid and knew who she was, even if his con­versation didn't always make sense, but sometimes he believed her to be an attacking Death Eater and was angry and violent. Upon occasion, he was simply withdrawn and sat staring into space, not responding to conversation.

She had meant what she said when she told Spike fixing Harry wasn't as simple as giving him some pills. Even before they had put him in the house, Harry had psychological scars from his battles with Voldemort and carried an enormous burden of guilt that he refused to talk about. They had not gone away in the five years since.

Once the car drew near to Grimmauld Place, Hermione realized she needed to brief the Wolfram & Hart group about the protections on the house. She cleared her throat, and Angel, Spike, and Wesley looked at her. "There are some protections on the house that you need to know about," she said. "You might have gathered that Harry is important to the war. His location is a magical secret. I'll tell you where he is so that you can go in the house, but it is vitally, incredibly important that you tell no one else where he is. Not even members of the Order of the Phoenix. Don't as­sume that just because someone is in the Order of the Phoenix that they know every­thing I've told you. If I think you can't be trusted to keep the secret, I'll Memory Charm you myself and you'll go home thinking your weekend jaunt overseas was a wonderful idea."

She expected a smart remark from Spike, but she didn't get one. Either he un­derstood how important this was, or he was still recovering from his brief exposure to sunlight.

"Remember this," Hermione said. "_Harry Potter's residence is at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_."

Her timing was better than she thought, because at that moment the limo pulled into the small courtyard that marked Grimmauld Place. It was dank and filled with moldering garbage, but that was the joke, thought Hermione. She could clearly see Number Twelve, curtains shut and windows dusty – she was Harry's Secret-Keeper and could always see the residence – but she could tell the Wolfram & Hart team could not.

"I'll go start on the unlocking charms," Remus said, and squeezed out of the li­mousine, being careful not to expose Angel to any more sunlight than he had to.

"I know," Hermione said, "it doesn't look like there's anything there. Concentrate on what I told you."

She could tell the very moment the spell lifted, because even Spike looked shocked. Illyria looked bored with it all. After a few moments, Remus gestured that he had the spells on the door unlocked and Angel and Spike wrapped themselves ag­ain, barreling for the door at high speed. Hermione, Wesley, and Illyria entered the house as a group. Remus was last in, and the door closing behind him sounded like the closing of a tomb.

Angel and Spike were hanging their blankets on a coat hanger and looking around, peering through the dank darkness. Hermione took a moment to peer through the gloom also. The house was in markedly worse shape than it had been the last time she was here. With a stab of guilt, she remembered that had been two years ago; she had started to make a breakthrough on the Watcher thing and was traveling too much to stop off in London every other day. Someone had to have been visiting Harry, though, in the interim. That was the way they had it set up, and be­sides, the Order of the Phoenix didn't do things like lock people in houses and forget about them.

Remus was also staring at the dilapidated condition of the house, the phrases carved jaggedly and shakily into the wood paneling on the walls: _Neither Can Live, Kill The Spare, The Other Survives_. And an endless litany of names. _Lily James Cedric Sirius Albus Ron_. Drifts of parchment covered the floor, swept higher in the corners. Hermione picked one up and unfolded it, seeing it covered in Harry's spindly writ­ing. _Dear Sirius I'm sorry I failed you Ron I'm sorry you met me Cedric I'm sorry I told you to take the Cup with me_. End­less recriminations, Harry blaming himself for the deaths of those he loved.

This was as bad as it had been when the Order had first begun using it in 1995. Cobwebs clung to the ornate chandeliers and the house smelled musty. Remus wrinkled his nose slightly and she knew he was smelling the same things she was: the faint sweet-sour smell of rotting garbage. Some­thing was ticking in Hermione's brain. It was true Harry didn't have a house-elf since Kreacher died and Dobby had been forbidden to visit for his own safety. And he could hardly be expected to man­age cleaning spells on his own. But surely someone would have cleaned for him . . . no one wanted Harry to live in filth . . .

Remus turned away and picked up a few pieces of the parchment that littered the entrance hall. He read one and then, ashen-faced, crumpled it and threw it back onto the ground. Hermione looked at him. Voice shaking slightly, he said, "Suicide note."

Reverently, Spike said, "Your boy . . . is . . . _barking_."

Some of the papers were mottled with suspicious brown spots. Her­mi­one was fa­miliar with what dried blood looked like by now. "How long has it been since you visited him?" she asked Remus quietly.

He frowned. "Two years. I got busy trying to run the Order and keep things from collapsing in on us. You?"

The weight of what she had done was bearing down on Hermione. "Ab­out the same. I'd hit a promising point in my research and I couldn't break off every two days to check on him. I figured someone else was coming by to see to him."

With a humorless smile on his face, Lupin said, "Apparently so did we all."

Hermione's stomach was writhing within her. Harry was her best friend, the superhero who hated the limelight, the Boy Who Lived, the only person who could win the war. And she had shut him up in a house and forgotten about him.

"What have we _done?_" she whispered, mostly to herself.

Spike frowned. "So, wait. If I'm hearing you right, and nobody's been by to see him in two years, how do we know he's not dead of starvation by now? Or that he's not done himself in six times over already? Your boy could be a skeleton by now and apparently, you all wouldn't have known it until you decided you needed him again."

"The house is charmed," said Hermione, unable to stop staring at the words carved into the walls, everywhere Harry could reach. _Diary Ring Locket Cup Snake Ravenclaw Voldemort. _"It makes food for him, three times a day. It makes clothes and supplies when he needs them." It was a tricky bit of spelling that had taken her a month to work out, but she didn't mention that. She continued, "And he's charmed so that he can't kill himself. Plus, he hasn't got a wand."

"It doesn't take a wand to kill yourself," Angel said, grim, as if they needed re­minding.

"It would probably be prudent to find him," Wesley said, looking around with a sense of urgency.

Hermione resented the fact that they were treating her as if she were stupid, but recognized that she probably deserved it. She took a few steps forward, being careful of where she put her feet: the floor was thickly cov­ered in parchment and she wasn't entirely sure of what lurked underneath. "Harry?" she called. "Harry, it's Hermione. Are you around?"

Silence.

"Harry, it's Hermione," she called again. "I've come for a visit. I'm in the en­trance hall if you want to come down."

Silence . . . then she heard a faint thump and a squeak of a loose floor­board. So he was upstairs, and mobile. This was either a good sign or a bad sign.

She started up the stairs, Remus immediately behind her and Angel and Spike following him. "Harry, I'm sorry I've been away so long," she said, projecting her voice toward the first floor. "Will you come talk to me?"

A shuffling of feet. She climbed up a few more stairs. "I know you're up here, Harry."

She reached the top of the stairs and was about to call out again, when the far bedroom door flew open, startling her. Harry burst out of the door, pointing what looked like a broken-off chair leg at her, and screaming. "DEATH EATERS!" he yelled. "DEATH EATERS! YOU CAN'T TAKE ME! I'LL MURDER YOU! THIS IS FOR –"

"_Harry!_" she yelled, trying to outshout him. Dimly she remembered from her fifth year at Hogwarts that this was very hard to do. "_Harry, we're not Death Eaters! Harry, look at me! It's Hermione!_"

He was still shouting. "I'LL MURDER YOU, I'LL MASSACRE YOU, I'LL –"

Desperately, Hermione pulled her wand out and pointed it at Harry. "_Aequitas!_" she shouted. A lavender-colored jet shot out of her wand and hit Harry in the chest, knocking him down. He stopped screaming mid-syllable and sat there looking pa­cified and benign.

"What was that?" Wesley asked.

"The Calming Charm," Hermione answered, handing her wand to Lupin so Har­ry couldn't get at it. "It won't last long, but it may give me enough time to get through to him." She hurried down the hall to Harry, who was looking vaguely be­mused, yet pleased.

Kneeling beside him, she said, "Harry, it's Hermione. Do you recognize me?"

He peered up at her, the soporific expression already staring to wear off his face. "Yes," he said. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," she apologized fervently. "I was looking for a way to beat Volde­mort. And I think I've found one."

"I'm supposed to beat Voldemort," he said, belligerence creeping back into his tone. "I'm the prophecy. _Neither can live while the other survives. _Neither can live, nei­ther can live. Kill the spare!"

"Harry," she pleaded. "I need you to stay calm and talk to me. Stay with me."

"I'm here," he said, a little hollowly. "I'm always here. You left me _alone_."

With a touch of macabre humor, she thought that there were times he had told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her to do just that. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I truly am. Come down to the kitchen and talk to me. There are things we need to talk about."

"Not," Harry said, "the kitchen. The kitchen is where –" And he shuddered all over.

"Where would you rather we go, then?"

"My room," said Harry, "my room. It's all right there."

Hermione offered a hand and helped Harry up off the floor. She took a moment to look at him. He was filthy, hair long and matted, but underneath the filth he was chalky pale. _Of course,_ thought Hermione, _he hasn't been out in the sun in two years_. She could see paler white lines, though, crisscrossing his face, covering his skin. They were on his arms too, and she could see where his shirt drooped at the collar that he wore them there too. She realized what they meant and had to swallow several times. Two years alone with no one but his demons had done Harry Potter no favors.

Harry led them to his room, which was on the second floor. It was even more densely packed with scraps of paper than the rest of the house, and Hermione could see the remains of several meals among the drifts. A bare mattress had a dent run­ning down the middle. Stacks of paper nearly obscured a small desk in one corner. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a large wardrobe, carved with faces that leered unpleasantly at Hermione.

Harry curled up on a small stool pushed in front of the desk, hugging his knees to him and whispering softly. The rest of the group crowded into Harry's room, trying not to step on one of the rotting dinner plates. Hermione listened closely and realized Harry was whispering his litany again. "_James Lily Cedric Sirius Dumbledore Ron_," he repeated. "_James Lily Cedric Sirius Dumbledore Ron_."

Hermione tried to call him back to himself. "Harry," she said. "Listen to me. _Harry_. I'm sorry I went away. But I found some people that can help us. We'll de­stroy the Horcruxes, so you can fight Voldemort, but I need you to help me too. I need you to –"

She paused, not knowing what to say to him. She needed him well, and sane, and able, but she realized that asking Harry to cure himself would be like asking a drowning man to pull himself out of the water. Seized by an idea, she continued. "I'm going to bring a potion by every day. I need you to take it every day, when I bring it to you. Can you do that?"

"I can . . ." Harry trailed off. "You're not going to leave me? You left me before." He finally looked up and saw Lupin. "You left me too. I was left – I was right." He giggled to himself.

"I am sorry, Harry," Remus said, and Hermione could hear how this was going to eat at him.

"We're not going to leave you again, Harry," Hermione reassured him. "Can you take the potion?"

Harry seemed to gather himself together slightly. "I can," he said, his voice firmer than it had been.

"Okay," Hermione said, heart breaking. "I'll bring the first dose by tomorrow. I have to go now, Harry, but I'll be back tomorrow."

"Don't leave me!" Harry said, clearly alarmed.

"I have to," Hermione said, trying to soothe Harry, "but I'll be back tomorrow. I'll bring Remus. It'll be like old times."

"You can't bring Ron."

"No," Hermione agreed, "I can't bring Ron." She bent and kissed Harry on the forehead, trying not to be disgusted by the fact that he tasted like sweat and dirt. "Goodbye, Harry. I'll be here again tomorrow."

The group clomped out of Harry's room and down the stairs, leaving him whis­pering to himself again. Spike and Angel were resignedly wrapping themselves up for the sprint back to the waiting limo when Harry stormed out of his room. "You can't do it without me, you know," he said, looking at Hermione. "What you're planning. I won't let you."

"I know, Harry," Hermione said, and they all made their way out of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Once they were all back in the Wolfram & Hart limo, Spike shook his head. "You know, I've been totally out of my head at times," he said, "but I never had _nothing_ on your boy."

Hermione ignored him, something she was getting good at doing.

"What kind of potion are you planning to give him, Hermione?" Remus asked.

"I'm going to take Spike's advice," Hermione said, lifting her mouth in a half-smile. "Prozac. That's not all he needs, but maybe it'll help us get through to him. At the very latest, he'll be able to do what needs done."

"Meanwhile," said Lupin, "we still have work to be done. Getting Harry better is something that I regret we haven't done sooner. But we still need to find those last Horcruxes, because you know as well as I that Harry can't come out of that house until he's ready to face Voldemort. I hope you've got a plan for finding the Horcrux­es, because I don't."

"We may be able to help with that," Wesley said. "Or I should, at any rate. I'll need some time to gather supplies, and I'll need told about the Horcruxes."

Hermione and Remus looked at each other. "I was planning to call an Order meeting tonight," Lupin said. "We can spend the time until then going over what we know."

The group was again silent on the trip back down to Lambeth, sobered by what they'd seen in Grimmauld Place. Once they returned to Lupin's block, Spike and An­gel begged off the Horcrux talk, saying there were things they needed to do at the office. (Hermione suspected sleep, since they were both looking a little ragged.) Re­mus went into his bedroom, leaving the door half-open, and busied himself making preparations for a meeting of the Order, leaving Hermione to inform Wesley about Horcruxes. Illyria stayed with Wesley and seemed to be listening to Hermione speak for about fifteen minutes, but abruptly excused itself. "I wish to walk this city," it said.

Hermione broke off mid-sentence. Wesley looked at Illyria as if it had expressed a sudden desire to take up fine needlepoint. "You _can't_," he said. "You'll cause a pan­ic."

"None will notice me as I go," Illyria said. "I will return when I am satisfied. Do not attempt to stop me." Adeptly it undid Remus's many locks and vanished down the hall outside his flat. Hermione got up to close the door and redo the locks and watched it turn toward the staircase.

Wesley looked slightly helpless. "I'm sorry," he said. "Illyria is like that some­times. Where were we?"

Hermione resumed her seat and took up repeating to Wesley what she knew ab­out Horcruxes. Harry had told her all she knew, which he had learned from Albus Dumbledore. Once she had finished talking about Horcruxes in general, she nar­rowed in to Voldemort's Horcruxes in specific, rehashing the list Harry still torment­ed himself over. Professor Dumbledore believed there had been seven: Riddle's old school diary; a ring and a locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin; a cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff; Voldemort's snake; an unknown artifact from ei­ther Godric Gryffindor or Rowena Ravenclaw; and Voldemort himself. Two were de­stroyed already: the diary and the ring. Professor Dumbledore had thought he knew where the locket was, but Harry had confessed to her that Dumbledore died not real­izing that it was a fake and the location of the real one was unknown.

Wesley listened to all this patiently without showing the slightest sign of dismay. "I may be able to help," he said. "I'll have to find some supplies, though. It may take a while. If you don't mind, I think I'll head back to the London office and make a start of things."

"Shouldn't you wait for Illyria?" Hermione asked.

Wesley smiled thinly. "Illyria has shown an uncanny ability to find me wherever I am. I don't think I'll worry."

"Do you need to use the phone?"

"Easier just to take the tube, I think," Wesley said. "I should still be able to find my way around."

"There's maps if you get lost," Hermione said, only half-joking.

In response to her half-joke, Wesley half-smiled. "Good afternoon, Miss Gran­ger."

Hermione let him out of Remus's apartment, making sure to lock up behind him. She leaned into the bedroom, where Remus sat hunched at a little desk making notes from a book onto a sheet of parchment. "I'm going to head over to my flat for a bit," she told him.

"Order meeting at half past eight," he said. "The usual crowd."

"I'll be sure to be there. Lock up behind me."

* * *

There was a small park behind Remus's block that was free of the anti-Ap­parition wards. Hermione dodged behind a tree, made sure no one was watching, and Appa­rated back to her flat. There she intended to do some research on the computer. As a Muggleborn witch, Hermione was much more tolerant of Muggle electronics than some of her fellow witches and wizards. The computer was cheap but worked fairly well; casting spells sometimes made the monitor go funny colors, though.

Hermione spent two hours with Google and came out of it with a fairly thorough understanding of what was wrong with Harry and what medications would help fix it. The trouble was, however, that she couldn't exactly walk down to the nearest Boots and buy the drug he needed. With the state he was in, if she took him to a doctor they'd put him in hospital, anyway, and no wizard belonged in a Muggle hos­pital. Not that he'd paid to the NHS or had any private health insurance they'd rec­ognize, she thought. St. Mungo's was no help: Wizarding healers didn't treat mental illness like Muggles did, and the hospital was packed full of Death Eaters anyway. She ruminated for a moment and then hit on the solution.

Mundungus Fletcher had long been a thief and a crook in the Wizarding world, but once the Wizarding world had started to fall on hard times, he had moved out into the Muggle world as well. The Wizarding world was dangerous and Fletcher liked to stay safe, not to mention the fact that bob­bies were far easier to elude than Aurors. If Mundungus didn't have what she needed, he'd find a way to get it to her.

Not having a fireplace in her flat, Hermione Apparated down to the Leaky Cauldron, again prevailing upon Tom to let her use a fireplace. Casting some Floo powder into the fire, she called, "Mundungus Fletcher."

As luck would have it, he was in the hovel he called home. "Eh? Whoozat?" she heard. Then Mundungus's stubbly face showed up in her fireplace. "Ah, it's you, Miss Granger," he said, slightly slurred. "Wot can I do you for?"

"I need you to find something for me."

Mundungus visibly perked up. "Wossat then?"

She held up a scrap of paper on which she'd written the medication she needed. Fletcher reached a hand up and she handed him the note. "A month's worth of these, fast."

Fletcher's eyes widened as he saw what was on the paper, but he said, "Next Monday."

"Thank you, Mundungus," Hermione said. He nodded and disappeared out of the fire.

_Next Monday_. That was nearly a week away. Hermione considered, and added her name to the list of Diagon Alley shoppers.

* * *

In the years since Harry Potter had been interred in Grimmauld Place, the Order of the Phoenix had taken to meeting at Hogwarts. It wasn't quite as _secure_ as Grim­mauld Place, but it was still the safest place in Wizarding Britain. At about a quarter past eight, with a Tranquility Potion boiling sluggishly in her loo, Hermione Appa­rated to the edge of Hogwarts' grounds. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts was there waiting for her, sporting a few bruises from what­ever he was teaching about this term.

Hagrid had been a great friend to Harry, Ron, and her during their time at Hog­warts, even if he was, Hermione reluctantly admitted, a rather substandard teacher. He had a love of exotic and dangerous beasts that had gotten him in trouble more than once, but he had one of the warmest hearts in Britain. At the moment, he was functioning in his capacity as Keeper of the Keys, vetting the Order members who showed up for the meetings. "Evenin', Hermione," he said. "Gate's locked, what's the password."

"It's a surprise," she said. Remus was in charge of setting the passwords, which changed every meeting, and upon occasion he demonstrated a puckish humor that was doubtless what had allowed him to hold his own against James Potter and Sirius Black.

"Ar, that it is," said Hagrid, and he unlocked the gates for her. "Good seein' yeh, Hermione."

Pulling her cloak around herself, she made the long walk up to the castle that housed Hogwarts. As she was constantly reminding people as a schoolgirl, it was im­possible to Apparate onto Hogwarts grounds; a good security feature that did some­times make for long walks in the cold. The Entrance Hall was only relatively warm, but compared to the wind outside it was like stepping into a sauna.

Hermione made her way up the floors of the castle, seeing few students. The younger students were supposed to be in the common rooms already, and the older students only had forty minutes left before curfew. Enrollment at Hogwarts was down, also, from a combination of fear and deaths. Voldemort showed no mercy when it came to children, possibly out of an awareness that he was killing tomorrow's Aurors.

The door for the room where Order meetings were held was deliberately nonde­script, designed to be missable. Hermione was paying attention today, or she would have walked right past it. The door was charmed to recognize Order members; Her­mione rested her hand on the knob until she felt the tingle that meant she could open the door.

Inside, the usual early crowd was milling about, a combination of veterans from the First Order and new members that had joined after Voldemort's second rise to power. Some, like Hermione, had joined after their graduation from Hogwarts. Re­mus was there already, making dis­tract­ed conversation with Arthur and Molly Weas­ley. Alastor Moody, known as Mad-Eye for his wild magical eye, was there, sharing war stories with Sea­mus Finnigan and the eldest Weasley son, Bill. Others she saw were the ex-Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dedalus Diggle, the tiny, excitable, and highly unlikely secret agent. Minerva McGonagall, current headmistress of Hogwarts was also there, and she acknowledged Hermione with a nod of the head as she lis­tened to Katherine Bundy speak.

As the clock ticked closer to half-past, more people started to drift in. Angelina Johnson showed up with George Weasley, chatting genially about Oliver Wood's performance during Puddlemere United's last Quidditch game. Luna Lovegood drift­ed in like she had actually meant to end up somewhere else.

Remus called the meeting to order at precisely 8:30, and everyone sat down in the chairs the Room of Requirement had provided for the occasion. Hermione found a seat on Ginny Weasley's right side so she'd be on Ginny's good side. She noticed a distinct smell of goats and deduced that Aberforth Dumbledore must be sitting somewhere behind her.

Lupin cleared his throat a couple times and said, "Good evening, everyone. I wanted to check in with everyone and see how they were doing. I also have a few an­nouncements."

Mundungus Fletcher slunk in and took a seat in the back of the room.

"Good of you to join us, Mundungus," Remus said politely.

Parvati Patil came flying in at high speed and barreled into a seat.

"And Parvati," Remus added. "Anyone else coming? No? I'd like those of us who can to give an update on what they're doing."

Involvement in the Order of the Phoenix varied. Some members were actively running missions for the Order and had no other occupation. Hermione was one of these. Others worked a regular job and reported back on anything unusual they heard, in addition to being available to help in emergencies, like Arthur and Bill Weasley. And Mundungus Fletcher they kept around because he heard things the others didn't. He was also good for procuring supplies, and if he had a tendency to be light-fingered with the silverware it was easily stopped with a patdown at the door.

Across the room, people stood up and gave short reports on what was hap­pen­ing. Arthur Weasley reported that the Ministry, under Lucius Malfoy's direction, was looking at implementing curfews. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been posing as the Muggle Prime Minister's secretary for the last six years, talked about how Volde­mort's most recent activities affected the Muggle world. Bill Weasley reported from Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, and his branch, GringottsBank. Aberforth, grud­gingly, and using as few words as possible, described a plan he had heard two possi­ble Death Eaters describing in the Hog's Head.

Around 8:45, Hagrid came in from watching the gate for latecomers. It took until about nine for everyone to update on their situation, then Remus gestured for quiet and said, "Now, a few announcements. I really only have a very few so we should soon be on our way. First, Hermione has met some people who may be able to help us with this War. I know everyone will welcome them and their help, but I'd like people to be aware that they are Muggles."

A small ripple ran through the room. Ginny, sitting next to her, said, "Is that what you've been up to lately?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll explain later."

Arthur Weasley seemed to be exclaiming to Molly over "real Muggles! Helping with the war! Imagine that!"

Remus gestured for quiet. "Some of you may never meet them, depending on how this all takes place. I wanted you to be aware of them, however. Second," he continued, "I will be unavailable, as always, on the fifth of April. As a warning. Does anyone else have any warnings they'd like to share with everyone?"

Luna Lovegood solemnly issued a warning about Nargle activity being on the upswing, which everyone managed to listen to without laughing but no one took seriously.

"Right then," said Lupin. "Anything else? No? Dismissed."

The various members of the Order of the Phoenix stood, stretching and creaking slightly. The Room of Requirement might provide them a place to meet, but Lupin hadn't yet been able to talk it into providing comfortable chairs. Some came over to talk to Hermione, who had been hoping to slip out and check to see if Wesley had contacted her on her mobile.

"Importing Muggles to help fight the war, eh, Hermione?" said George Weasley in a teasing tone of voice. "Next thing you know we'll be lifting the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Might finally be able to get shot of those nasty devil-worshiping rumors. And a whole new market for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

"Leave her alone, George," said Ginny. "Personally, I'm all for anything that will help us win this war. If you told me a military brigade of Flobber­worms would win this, I'd be out doing recruitment drives the next morning."

George laughed but did as Ginny asked, leaving Hermione and Ginny to talk to one another. "So this is what you've been up to?" Ginny asked.

"For years," Hermione said. "I think they're our last hope, Ginny. Or I did when I went to go find them. Meet me at my flat. We'll talk about them."

Hermione edged her way toward the door, Ginny following, hoping not to get caught up in any of the usual post-meeting chatter, but Molly and Arthur were standing by the door, chatting with Bill. Molly reached out and caught Hermione by the arm.

"Hermione, dear," she said. "You look so pale. What have you been doing? You should come by the house more often, dear. I can't remember the last time we saw you."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You know we consider you a part of the family. It would be nice to have someone young around the house since Ginny moved out."

Behind Hermione, Ginny sounded annoyed. "Dad!"

Hermione smiled awkwardly. "I'll see when I can come by. I've been working on something for the Order . . ."

"Does it have anything to do with these Muggles?" Bill asked.

"Yes, it does," she said, and her smile smoothed into something more natural. "Good to see you. How's Fleur doing?"

Bill grinned widely, rearranging his scars. "Magnificently. She's glowing. She says her feet hurt a lot, though."

"Well, that's to be expected this far along," Molly said wisely. "I keep telling her . . ."

Hermione saw an opportunity to bow out of the conversation while Mrs. Weasley was engaged in baby talk. Waving apologetically to Bill and Mr. Weasley – and Ginny, who had been drawn into the conversation – she slipped out of the Room of Requirement without being stopped by anyone else.

She was concentrating on putting her thoughts in order and going where her feet took her, so it was with some surprise that she looked up and found that she had walked to the white tomb by the lake. She stood there for a moment with her hands in the pockets of her anorak, staring at the inscription on the tomb.

_Albus Dumbledore  
1841-1996  
Hogwarts Headmaster_

Hermione sighed. She opened her mouth, found she had nothing to say, and closed it again. No matter her personal loyalty to Remus, she privately thought that this war had gone rather better when Dumbledore was running it, if only because Voldemort was secretly terrified of him.

Finally, she said simply, "I wish you were here." Conjuring some flowers and laying them on the tomb, she walked off toward the Hogwarts gates. Hagrid had left the meeting first and was waiting at the gates to let the members of the Order out. With a cheery "All righ', Hermione?", he let her out onto the road away from the school.

Hermione Apparated into her flat. No messages from Wesley. Well, he'd call when he was ready. She was in the middle of straightening the pillows on the sofa when a knock on the door heralded Ginny's arrival. "Want some tea?" she asked Ginny as she let her in, pulling her wand out.

Ginny pulled her own wand out. "Yes," she answered. Hermione recognized the wand movements and approved – Ginny was casting good, strong wards. She busied herself bringing up her own wards and gave Ginny's a check. Hermione wasn't sure that her flat was being monitored, but she wouldn't put it past the Ministry in its current state. She'd worked out a rather elaborate code of seemingly innocuous questions that actually meant something more, but the tea question was asked the most.

"Now then," Hermione said, once the wards were built. "_Do_ you want some tea?"

"It'd be nice," Ginny said. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it. What makes these Muggles so special, then?"

With a couple taps of her wand, Hermione boiled the water and started the process of making tea for the two of them. When she was done, she carried the mugs out of the corner nook that served as her kitchen and sat beside Ginny on the sofa.

Ginny was probably the closest thing Hermione had to a confidante. She started at the top of the story and wound Ginny all the way through to her last conversation with Wesley earlier that day. When she was done talking, Ginny sat back, looking a little gobsmacked. "They can do magic? And they're working on finding the Horcruxes?"

"Yes. I hope he can turn up something. I never did manage to find what Voldemort might have had that was Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's."

Ginny regarded Hermione with a sort of hard look. "When you go to find the Horcruxes," she said firmly. "I'm coming with you."

Hermione was taken aback. She ought to have expected this. "_Ginny_. You _can't_. There's too many people going along already."

"If anyone deserves to go, it's me. You're doing this to help Harry, aren't you? I think I have as much right to help him as you do. More, maybe."

Hermione was silent, considering this. Ginny was a more than capable witch. She was fearless in battle. She understood the way Voldemort thought in a way few others did. But she was also rash, headstrong, and at a tactical disadvantage – a curse she had taken last year during a fight with a Death Eater had left her blind and deaf on the left side.

She was also utterly in the right about Harry.

"You're not over him, are you?" she asked.

Ginny gave her a pitying look. "Are you over Ron?" she asked, as if the answer should be obvious.

Sighing, Hermione had to concede that on that point she was right. Ron had been murdered by Death Eaters as a warning to Harry, and the pain over that one still kept her up at night.

"All right," Hermione said. "I'll ask the others. I can't make any promises."

"I'm coming with you," Ginny repeated, and that was that. There were very few people on the planet more stubborn than Ginevra Weasley when she had made up her mind about something. Hermione let it drop. It wasn't worth fighting over, and she was sure she could find a way to convince Remus.

Ginny stared morosely into her cup of tea for a few moments. "Sometimes I think it's easier for you," she said.

"Pardon?"

"At least you _know_ Ron is dead. With Harry it's just – he's there, but he's not. He's just my crazy ex-boyfriend that's locked up in his house because there's an evil hit squad after him."

Hermione settled back against the cushions of her sofa. "You don't have to . . ."

"Wait for him? Yes, I do," Ginny snapped. "Has there ever been anyone for me besides Harry?"

Once again, Ginny was right. Hermione knew Ginny's early infatuation had developed into a real love, one that Harry appeared to return . . . at least he had before he was shut in Grimmauld Place.

In her turn, Hermione stared into her teacup, as if the secrets of the universe were at the bottom. "At least after this you might have a chance with Harry. I'm working – I'm trying to make him well."

"Is that so?" Ginny was a little cool. "Because his health and welfare were so important to you for the past four years."

Hermione went pink. "I've been working for the Order."

"So have I." Ginny grimaced, set her teacup on the coffee table, and flopped back against the sofa. "Look, never mind," she muttered. "I didn't mean to start a fight. If you can do anything to fix him, we'll all be grateful. Let's talk about something else. Have you heard what Dean Thomas is up to?"

* * *

Hermione woke up the next morning and groaned. Ginny had stayed late gossiping in an effort to distract themselves from what they were facing. The Tranquility Potion was done and perfect, so after she finished getting ready, she bottled some in a Mason jar and Apparated over to Grimmauld Place.

"Harry?" she called as she locked the door behind her. "Harry, are you here?" She knew he was – there was no way he could leave – but it was polite to ask.

No answer. Hermione considered where he tended to hide and went looking for him. She found him in the second place she went looking, his bedroom. He was laying on the bed, looking out into space.

"Harry?" she asked. He didn't even turn to acknowledge her. This was obviously one of his non-responsive days. She stepped into his line of sight and knelt down so she was right at eye level. "Harry, it's Hermione. I've brought your potion. Remember, you promised you'd take it."

Still no response. She sighed and by poking and prodding managed to get him to roll onto his back. Lifting his head, she held the potion to his lips and coerced him into drinking it. The Tranquility Potion wouldn't cure him, but it would at least give him some peace while she waited for Mundungus to produce her medicine.

There was no point in staying. Harry plainly wasn't talking today. She touched him on the cheek, once, and left.

* * *

Her mobile started buzzing frantically once she left the wards around Grim­mauld Place, telling her she had new voicemail. Hermione discovered Wes­ley had left her a message telling her he'd made "some progress" and re­questing that they meet at her convenience. She called him back at the number he'd left and got him on the second ring.

"Wyndam-Pryce," he said crisply.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. It's Hermione Granger."

"Miss Granger. I just left you a message –"

"I know. My mobile was out of service. When should we meet?"

"Well, I'm certainly available right now. When can you be here?"

"Where are you located?"

Wesley gave her the address. Hermione considered. Wolfram & Hart was down in the City, from the sound of it, and she hadn't been in the City enough to be able to Apparate. It'd have to be the tube, then.

"I can be there in an hour," she said.

"We'll be expecting you," Wesley said, and hung up. Hermione was briefly and intensely annoyed.

An hour and a trip on the tube later – Hermione had very nearly hexed one man who insisted on standing a little close and smelled like he hadn't washed in decades – she was walking into the lobby of the London branch of Wolfram & Hart. She looked around in amazement. Down to the grass growing by the elevators, it was an exact copy of the Los Angeles branch. The only difference was that this office had a dark-haired and quite professional receptionist seated under the Wolfram & Hart sign.

With a feeling of something more than déjà vu, Hermione approached the receptionist. "I'm here to meet Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," she said.

"Yes, miss," said the receptionist. "He's been expecting you. I'll call."

Hermione loitered nervously while the receptionist dialed Wesley. A few polite words, and the receptionist hung up and said briskly, "He'll be right out to fetch you, miss."

The receptionist hadn't finished speaking when Wesley appeared, looking scraggly and worn-out. He did manage to put some genuine feeling into his "Good morning, Miss Granger."

"Good morning," said Hermione.

"This way," Wesley said, heading back the way he came. He led her straight to the office he occupied in Los Angeles. This one held Illyria, glaring out the window at the River Thames.

Hermione noted the nameplate on the desk. "You've given someone the boot?"

Wesley had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "We are a bit . . . _senior_ to the associates here. They make us welcome. Anyway, I've been researching these Horcruxes in Wolfram & Hart's library."

Hermione perked up. "Wolfram & Hart has a library?"

"Quite," Wesley said, and the expression on his face was deadpan. "I've found a couple mentions of Horcruxes, and I wanted to run them by you."

"_Really_." Intrigued, Hermione wanted to know more. She hadn't thought any information about something as deeply magical as Horcruxes would have survived the information purge that followed the enacting of the International Statute of Secrecy – and what was a law firm doing with books on magic anyway? _One that has a vampire as its chief executive_, Hermione thought, and wondered.

"If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the library," Wesley said, gesturing to the door. She stood, and he preceded her out the door. They set off deeper into Wolfram & Hart, Hermione losing her way after they went upstairs. The corridors twisted and turned and mostly looked the same. Probably intentional, she figured, to prevent anyone from finding anything that might be valuable.

Finally, they came to a set of double doors with a reader device set to one side. Wesley pressed his thumb against the reader, and the locks popped open with an audible _chunk_. He opened the door and stood aside, gesturing Hermione through.

Hermione sucked in a quick gasp at the size of the library. Easily as large as the great Hogwarts library, it was two stories tall and ran off into the distance, stacks and stacks of books. She suppressed the urge to find a section that interested her and start pulling books off the shelves.

"Research in our branch is easier," said Wesley, behind her. "Using the sourcebooks, I can call up the text of any book stored in Wolfram & Hart's library. More useful than you'd think. But here, they don't have the sourcebooks."

He stepped around Hermione and led her through the stacks to a carrel off to one side. Several books were stacked on the table, and Hermione tilted her head to read the spines. _An Encyclopedia of Magical Artefacts; Grosvenor's Grimoire; The Black Lexicon_. Some titles, such as _Magick Most Evile_, she recognized. Some of the books didn't have names on the spines.

Wesley rummaged through the stacks and pulled out _The Black Lexicon_ and one of the unnamed books, handing the unnamed book to Hermione. She opened the cover and discovered a handwritten blackletter inscription identifying the book as the_ Materia Magica_.

"That's the book I wanted to run by you," Wesley said. "It seems to have been written by a wizard, or at least someone familiar with your kind of magic, because there are some references I don't understand. It appears to have been written in the 14th century or thereabouts. Meanwhile, I –" he pulled the largest volume out of the stack, another of the unnamed volumes – "will continue to work on this one."

Hermione studied the book Wesley was holding. The book, which was nearly the size of a paving stone, had covers that appeared to be made of fine-grained black leather. It looked somehow greasy, as if oil had been spilled on it and never wiped up. "Which book is that?" she asked.

Wesley hefted the book and looked grim. "_The Book Which Is Not Named_," he said. "Widely considered to be so evil that naming it was for­bid­den, in the hopes that it would be lost."

Hermione blinked. She shuddered to think what Voldemort would be able to do with a book like that, a library like this, and again wondered what she had gotten herself into. It was looking more and more like she had recruited the most evil law firm on earth to combat the most evil wizard on earth.

She took the _Materia Magica_ over to a table and dropped into a chair, already reading the cramped script. Wesley took a seat on the opposite side of the table, a few seats down, frowning at _The Book Which Is Not Named_. They read in silence for a few minutes until Hermione said, "How long have you been living in Los Angeles?"

Wesley did not reply immediately and she added, "I'm sorry – I think better when I'm talking. You're probably a quiet researcher."

"No," he said after a moment, "no, it's all right. Five years. I was sent out to be a Watcher, actually, but it didn't go very well. I ended up staying, fell in with Angel, and here we are today."

Hermione made a wry face. "Sounds like me and Harry. What sent you to Los Angeles, if you don't mind me asking?"

There was another pause, then Wesley said, "The Council." She was rummaging through her memory to find where she'd heard that term before, when he added, "Of Watchers. They sent me for a Slayer."

Gingerly turning pages of the _Materia Magica_, Hermione asked, "What happened?"

"She didn't want me. Shortly after, neither did the Council. Have you found the pages I was talking about?"

She started. "Oh – no." Caught in old habits, she'd been reading the book rather than searching for information on Horcruxes.

Wesley looked up from the _Book Which Is Not Named_. "I know. It's easy to get distracted from what you're looking for. The section on Horcruxes is toward the middle of the book."

Hermione flicked through several pages, scanning intently, until the word "Horcrux" leapt out at her. Frowning, she set in to read.

* * *

Three days passed without any contact from Wesley, until abruptly her mo­bile rang again. Wesley confirmed that he had "made some discoveries," al­though he refused to tell her what they were, and again requested that they meet. Hermione repeated the whole rigamarole with the tube, and three-quarters of an hour later, she was again seated in his borrowed office, looking expectantly across the desk at him.

"After that session in the library – which was most helpful, thank you – and after a bit of work, I think I have something on the Horcruxes." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it to Hermi­one. It was a map of the British Isles, with three locations picked out with dots.

"It's not the locations of the remaining Horcruxes, is it?" she asked.

"It is," Wesley confirmed. "Only generalities, but those should be en­ough to point us in the right direction. I apologize that I could only find three."

Hermione burned with curiosity about the magic that had produced a result like this. Her own location spells, no matter how carefully executed, had been fruitless. Voldemort had managed to conceal the Horcruxes from ordinary magic, which she had been careful to point out. Obviously Wesley had gotten something different out of the _Book Which Is Not Named_ than she had.

She had a sudden suspicion. "Can you search for a person?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Do it. Search for Harry Potter."

"Don't you know where he is?"

Hermione gave Wesley a look. "I've got an idea."

"I'll need some supplies. Wait here."

Five minutes later, Wesley was back with a handful of supplies for what Hermione assumed was the Muggle version of the Locator Charm. It seemed to require some colored sand, white candles, and a blank sheet of paper. Hermione watched curiously as Wesley poured a circle of sand and then set the paper in the center of the circle and the candles at specific points along the circle. He said an invocation as he lit the candles in a certain order, and then sat back and waited.

Hermione gasped. A map was drawing itself on the paper. After a few minutes, it seemed to be done and Wesley extinguished the candles in the reverse order from which he had lighted them. He handed the paper to Hermione. "Is this correct?"

She examined it closely. The streets weren't labeled, but after a few moments she recognized them as the streets around Grimmauld Place. More distressingly, a small dot sat upon Grimmauld Place. It wasn't possible. Grimmauld Place was under a Fidelius Charm and it was Unplottable. Those two alone should have been enough to keep the spell from locating Harry. That wasn't taking into account the many spells she, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Mortimer Black, Sirius's father had laid on the house.

Hermione didn't like the implications. "_Evanesco!_" she said, aiming her wand at the paper in her hand. It instantly disappeared. "Don't tell anyone you can find Harry. It would probably be a good idea not to mention you can find objects at all."

"I hadn't intended to." Wesley abruptly changed the topic. "What do you want to do next?"

"I need to talk to Remus. I'd imagine we'll be going to find the Horcruxes. I'll ring you when we're ready to leave. Meanwhile, I've got to be going. Thank you for this," Hermione said, holding up the Horcrux map. "We hadn't been able to find out even this much before now."

"Quite welcome. Good day, Miss Granger."

* * *

After calling to make sure Remus was up and about, Hermione Apparated across the river to his flat. She immediately launched into an explanation about the map she carried and with somewhat more concern related the tale of the map that led to Harry that she had destroyed.

Remus listened with a neutral expression on his face, frowning slightly when she mentioned that Wesley's magic had been able to find Harry. "Well, it's to be expected," he said, once Hermione was finished speaking. "Their magic doesn't work like ours. I was able to tell that by working with Mr. Giles."

"I'm worried about Voldemort possibly finding Harry this way, though. He isn't so keen on Muggles, I know, but he may not care about where this came from if he can use it to reach Harry."

"Well, he'd have to know about Muggle magic to think of using it to find Harry, and – dammit." Remus broke off, appearing to remember something. "He knows about Muggle magic. I'd forgotten until now. Mr. Giles had a friend that was captured by Voldemort. We had to rescue him. Voldemort was having the man try to kill Albus. Well, if he hasn't tried to use it by now I doubt he will, Hermione."

"What about the friend?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, Hermione. As I recall, we freed him and he went on his way." He saw the expression on her face and said, "I'll look Mr. Giles up and ask him, if that will make you happy."

"And I'll talk to Wesley about finding a Muggle way to shield Harry. I wish we'd thought of this before now."

Remus excused himself and left the flat. Hermione called Wesley, who assured her that he would work on blocking Harry from locator spells and that there were a few ways that should work fairly well. Harry's safety assured, Hermione located Remus's battered copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ and settled in to read until he returned.

* * *

A few hours later, Lupin returned. "I've found him. I told him it was urgent and he told me to meet him at the office. Are you ready for Side-Along Apparation?"

"Of course," Hermione said, although Side-Along Apparation usually made her sick to her stomach for a few minutes.

They Apparated in behind a skip beside a brick building. "Where are we?" Hermione asked.

"Up in Bloomsbury," Remus said. He led her around the corner and up the unassuming front steps. Hermione guessed the building for slightly post-war vintage. The foyer was rather narrow, but they'd managed to cram a receptionist in.

"I'm here to see Mr. Giles?" Remus said in a pleasant tone of voice.

The receptionist pointed. "Through those doors."

Hermione trailed after Lupin as he walked toward the doors the receptionist had indicated. He paused in the doorway. "Giles?"

"Remus! Good to see you. Please, come in."

Remus stepped in and they both found seats across from Mr. Giles. Hermione summed him up and decided that this was who Lupin would have been if he weren't a wizard and a werewolf. Mr. Giles was slightly tweedy, his hairline was receding slightly, and he was wearing a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses. His face bore the lines of middle-age, but Hermione could see a goodly number of laugh lines, though his face was solemn at the moment.

A half-full teacup and saucer sat on his desk, on top of a stack of books. Hermione looked around the office in her peripheral vision and decided that Mr. Giles might be the only person who had more books than Remus.

"This is Hermione Granger," Remus said, once they were seated.

"Pleased to meet you," Mr. Giles said, reaching a hand over his desk. "You said it was urgent. What can I help you with?"

"I'm sure you remember summer 1981," Remus said. "You had a friend that was working with Voldemort. We had to rescue him."

Mr. Giles's face hardened slightly. "Yes, Ethan. Ethan Rayne."

"That was his name. Are you still in contact with him? Do you know what he's doing?"

"No, I haven't talked to Ethan in . . . oh, about four years, I'd say. He played a bit of a prank on me that could have gone rather badly and a friend of ours had him placed in military custody in Nevada. Why? Is Ethan up to something? I wouldn't put it past him."

Hermione was reassured. The one person Voldemort knew who could perform Muggle magic was where Voldemort couldn't get at him. The Wizarding world lived or died by whether she could keep Harry safe.

"No, he hasn't been doing anything," Remus said. "We were just worried for his safety. You know how he fell in with Voldemort last time."

"Last time? So he's active again?" Mr. Giles sat back. "The things I miss."

"Thank you, Mr. Giles," Hermione said.

"Sorry to leave so quickly," Remus apologized, "but we are rather in a hurry."

"No, no, no, that's all right," Mr. Giles said. "I was just in the middle of something myself. There's a – well, I'm not really sure what it is, but it's out bothering people and we've got to do something about it."

"Good luck," Hermione said. She and Remus said their goodbyes and left the building.

"Well, it's certainly good that this Ethan Rayne person is in military custody. I wonder what it was he _did_," Hermione mused. "He doesn't really sound like a very nice person, playing pranks on people. Did you know him?"

"A little," said Remus. He fell silent as they walked around behind the skip and Apparated back.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked, walking across the small green.

"When do you want to leave?"

"Next week. There's some things I have to do before we go."

Remus nodded. "Let me know when you're ready. I'll call a meeting before we go."

* * *

The next day, as promised, Mundungus produced her medication for Harry, and he came through with enough to last Harry three months. He did make some noises about "lost some perfectly good Xanax and gettin' nothing in return" but Hermione silenced him with a look.

Medication in hand, it was time to go. Remus called a meeting of those closest to Harry, which included Remus and Hermione, plus Molly and Arthur Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, and Arabella Figg. All had been present at the earlier meeting and so knew about the Muggle team, but the search for the Horcruxes was new information.

"Ginny, Hermione, and I will be leaving with the Muggle team," Remus said. "We don't know where we're going or how long we'll be gone. We'll try to stay in contact but it may not be possible. Minerva, I'd like you to be in charge while I'm gone."

"Of course, Remus," McGonagall said.

"Someone will need to keep an eye on Harry," Hermione said. "I've got medication for him and there's no guarantee he'll be well enough to take it himself. Someone will need to visit him every day and make sure he gets it."

Hermione could see that Molly Weasley was about to volunteer, but Neville beat her to it. "I'll do it," he said, surprising at least two people in the group.

"You're sure?" Hermione asked.

Neville nodded. "I owe him," he said. "I'll do it."

"He needs talked to," Hermione said. "His favorite thing to do is clam up and not talk about what's bothering him, and he won't get better if he doesn't talk. You might have to annoy him until he yells at you."

"Okay," Neville said. He managed a weak smile at Hermione. "I'll treat him like I do my plants."

Which meant, in Neville's terms, that he would be receiving the best and tenderest care Neville had to give. Hermione looked at Lupin. "Anything else you can think of?"

"No," he said. "We'll be leaving as soon as it's safe to travel."

"Oh, take care, Remus," Molly Weasley said. "You too, Ginny. Stay out of trouble."

Arthur Weasley regarded his only daughter. "Do what you have to do, Ginny. But come back home."

"I will," she said.

The Weasleys hugged Hermione and Ginny, Mrs. Weasley clinging to Ginny. Hermione was seized with a sudden desire to hug her parents, but that wasn't something she had time to do before they left. She settled herself with knowing that if this worked, they could come home from their Can­adian exile.

With a few more goodbyes and some blotted tears from Mrs. Weasley, they left.


	3. The Place of Rains

Chapter Three  
_The Place of Rains_

They left just after dark the next evening, stopping in the City to pick up the Wolfram & Hart team. All, except for Illyria, were carrying small bags, which fit in the magically expanded boot perfectly well. A brief discussion about seating ensued, mainly because Wesley maintained that Angel and Spike could not sit next to one another. Finally, they ended up with Remus on the right front in the driver's seat, Hermione in the middle, and Ginny in the passenger seat, with Spike behind Ginny, then Wesley, Illyria, and Angel behind Remus.

After that, there was some argument about which site they should visit first, mainly between Angel and Spike. Hermione wasn't quite sure exactly what they were arguing about, as each appeared to be suggesting the same thing in a slightly different manner. From the look on Wesley's face, Her­mi­one gathered this was fairly common.

Ginny solved the discussion by holding up the map, closing her eyes, and randomly jabbing at it with her wand. She opened her eyes and frowned.

"Wiltshire," Hermione said.

"Malfoy central," Ginny said, with great distaste.

"Who?" Wesley asked.

"Our Minister for Magic," said Hermione, "and his son."

"Great bullying snotrag and a little toadying snotrag," Ginny said.

Remus said nothing, merely turning the car south to begin the journey.

Later Hermione would decide that on her list of Least Favorite Car Trips, this one was number two, behind the one at age seven where she'd gotten sick on holiday and spent most of the trip home in the back curled up in a ball with stomach cramps. Angel and Spike spent most of the trip, once they passed the Orbital, arguing about who would win in a fight, as­tro­nauts or cavemen. Wesley had an exquisite look of unease on his face and Illyria spent the trip staring in some fascination out the window.

She and Ginny spent the trip staring at the map and trying to decide where the dot was precisely, finally deciding that it was somewhere near Bath. Remus agreed that Bath was as good a place to start as any.

"The Order's got some contacts in the area," he said. "They may know something about where Voldemort's been hiding the Horcruxes."

About halfway to Bath, Remus slowed the car, put the tip of his wand to his temple, and then waved it out the window. A silvery bear shot out of his wand and headed southwest.

"They'll be waiting for us," he said.

The second half of the trip was as arduous as the first. The constant bickering from the backseat gave Hermione a headache.

"You're so wrong," Spike was saying. "Completely wrongheaded. I don't even know how you got around to thinking that way."

"Spike. I thought we _agreed_ that cavemen always won."

"Well, yeah, but where's the fun in that? Always more fun arguing than there is agreeing."

Angel sighed, as did Hermione, but he didn't respond to Spike.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, for which Hermione was grateful. Remus drove them through Bath to a house on the southwest side. As he pulled into the driveway, the front door opened and a tall wizard came out to greet them.

"Lupin! Can't imagine what brings you out this way. Aren't you nor­mal­ly up in the smoke? Aah, company! Welcome, welcome," he said, delivering this monologue as everyone peeled themselves out of the car.

"Good evening, Dirk," Lupin said pleasantly. "I'll make the intro­duc­tions once we all get inside."

"Aah, no problem, no problem," Dirk said. "Come on, this way, every­one."

They trooped as a group into the house, squeezing into the lounge. Her­mione took out her wand as soon as she cleared the door and started putting up wards. She noticed Remus and Ginny doing the same. Once the wards were up, Lupin turned to Dirk and shook hands. "I appreciate you helping us on such short notice," he said. "I'd like you to meet the rest of my team. This is Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Angel, Spike, and the one in red over in the corner is Illyria."

Everyone, aside from Illyria, waved or offered some version of "Pleased to meet you."

Dirk offered his own wave. "Dirk Cresswell. Used to head the Goblin Liaison Office until they sent me to the Centaur Office in favor of some Death Eater a couple of years ago. Figured it was good enough to take my pension and go back to the old family home. Glad to be able to help you all out in any way."

"I do have one request," Lupin said. "Have you anywhere that's sun­light-proof? We've got some sensitive things we need to store."

"Aah, sure," said Cresswell. "Not a window in the cellar. Whatever you've got, it'll be safe down there. Three bedrooms upstairs, so you all can spread out however you wish. Just me rattling around here anymore."

Angel nodded slightly at that. The group spent a few minutes unloading luggage and deciding how to apportion the bedrooms, but eventually had it sorted. Angel seemed restless and said he wanted to go patrol the city, but the rest of the group repaired to the lounge to talk with Cresswell.

Once they were settled in with tea, Remus started the questioning. "Have you seen any abnormal Death Eater activity?"

"Aah, sure, sure," Cresswell said. "Town's all over Death Eaters, has been for years. Doing what Death Eaters do, of course, and the councillors are frantic. Blaming it on 'fringe elements'. Keep my head down and the only time we run into each other is when I go for a pint down the pub."

"Do you ever hear them talking about anything?"

"Sometimes they're planning what Muggle-baiting to do next. Hear some of them complaining about 'that old hole'. Sometimes they're yapping as young men do. Pub talk."

Hermione tried to dredge up her southwest England geography from her junior school education and couldn't remember any sort of caves.

"Do they say anything about where 'that old hole' might be?"

"Afraid not. Seems to be a couple miles out of town. Sorry I don't know more."

Remus subsided.

Unexpectedly, Spike spoke up. "Look, I used to be evil, and I know something about hiding things, and it sounds like Voldemort's got our trin­ket down in this hole. Now, when I was hiding things, I always put a guard on 'em. Of course," he added, "people usually _found_ my things, but at least the guards gave 'em a bit of fun."

"So, Spike?" Wesley asked.

"So, I'm saying we go looking for a guard. Sounds like they're not too hard to find in town here. There's got to be _something_ that will make them talk. And we could probably take one in a fight."

"Don't be so sure," Ginny said.

Spike looked slightly miffed. "I'm just saying."

Ginny and Spike continued to bicker, but Hermione tuned them out. She was desperately trying to remember something.

Ron and Harry had made fun of her all through Hogwarts for it, but Hermione simply loved to learn and often spent her spare time in the ac­qui­sition of knowledge. She was, after all, the child of two learned people who considered the encyclopedia proper toilet reading material. At Hogwarts, this love of learning had manifested as a desire to read the largest tomes in the school library. These days, it meant she spent her precious few free hours browsing the accumulated public knowledge that was the internet. Hermi­one would read almost anything if she could learn something from it.

It was true that most of what she picked up was about the Muggle world, which made some wizards a little dubious of her computer and reli­ance on Muggle ways. But Hermione lived in the Muggle world and was the child of Muggles, and so she gladly absorbed information about that world.

Something she had read at one time was bothering her, tickling at the edge of her memory. A big hole. Near Bath. Something, a few years ago . . .

She turned to Cresswell, who was watching Ginny and Spike fighting with an amused look on his face. "Have you got a computer?" she asked.

Cresswell's face crinkled with confusion. "Eh?"

"Or a phone book?"

"Eh? You mean a fellytone? Arthur Weasley was telling me about one of those. No. Don't truck with those Muggle gadgets. Don't work, mostly."

Hermione checked her mobile, which she had brought out of habit, but it was showing the usual gibberish that meant there was too much magic around.

"Have you thought of something?" Remus asked. Ginny and Spike shut up, looking interested.

"I've remembered something," Hermione said, "but I've got to look it up. Can I . . ."

Lupin dug in his pocket and handed her his keychain. "Be sure to refill the petrol."

* * *

A combination of luck and directory assistance led Hermione to a twenty-four hour internet café, where a bored-looking university student sat behind the counter, reading a comic book. A handwritten sign on the counter read "£7 an hour cash only". Hermione managed to pry instructions out of the university student as to the location of the nearest cashpoint and trotted off to pull out some cash. 

Hermione was lucky enough to be receiving a stipend from the Order of the Phoenix. Harry had, in a fit of guilt, bequeathed the entire Black fortune to the Order. She and Remus and a few other people were paid out of this. Hermione's Wizarding Galleons went into her GringottsBank account (GringottsBank being the Muggle branch of Gringotts, the Wiz­ard­ing bank, which was run by goblins) and came out the other end as Muggle pounds. It was far easier for her than having to go to the Gringotts branch in Diagon Alley every time she wanted to get money. Bill Weasley, who was the head of GringottsBank, had told her once that there were Muggles who had accounts at GringottsBank, totally unaware of its Wizarding origins.

Money safely in purse, Hermione returned to the internet café and start­ed work. Fourteen pounds later, Hermione had found what she was think­ing of, complete with map. She printed a few pages, at 50p a page, logged off the computer, and paid the attendant (who had to be woken from an im­promptu nap.)

Stopping at a petrol station along the way, Hermione returned to Cress­well's house.

* * *

Angel still had not come back when Hermione arrived, but rather than make the group hold to his schedule, she elected to tell them what she had found out and fill him in later. 

"I've found it," she said, greeting the assembled group.

"_Really_," said Wesley, looking impressed.

Brandishing her papers, Hermione started to tell them about where she thought the Horcrux was hidden. During the Second World War, with the war raging only the English Channel away, the threat of an invasion by the Germans had been very real. In response, the British government built a series of bunkers, shelters, and ammunition depots, all aimed at protecting the island if the Germans ever came ashore. One of these was a massive, sprawling underground complex called the Monkton Farleigh Underground Ammunition Depot. Today a security firm was using a small part of it as a storage vault, but for the most part it was silent, dark, and untouched by teenage vandals.

"It goes on and on for _miles_," Hermione said. "Still in its postwar condi­tion. There's segments people haven't set foot in for fifty or sixty years. I'd bet, I'd just _bet_ that Voldemort has the Horcrux in there somewhere."

"Interesting," Lupin said. "Yes, I'd say you're probably right. Good work, Hermione."

Wesley looked a little skeptical. "And how do you propose we get in there?"

"There's several entrances to the tunnels," Hermione said. "Locked, but –" She made a swishing motion like she would with _Alohomora_. "Muggle locks are susceptible to the Unlocking Charm."

"And how are we going to _find_ the thing?" Spike asked. "I mean, if this thing goes on for miles we could be down there for _days_."

Hermione exchanged a look with Remus. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said. "We can check the site tomorrow."

Shortly after that, the Wizarding contingent decided to retire for the night. The room allotted to Hermione and Ginny had only a daybed, so Hermione conjured a camp bed for herself. Hermione was just starting to drift off to sleep when Ginny said, "Do you really think this will work?"

It took Hermione a moment to restart her brain. "This?"

"You know. The finding the Horcruxes. These Muggles. Do you really think we can beat Voldemort?"

"I don't think we can beat Voldemort, but I think we can weaken him enough for Harry to beat him."

"Harry? Beat Voldemort?" Ginny laughed skeptically. "Have you visited Harry recently? I stopped going because I couldn't stand to see him that broken. Oh, that's right," she said, as if she had suddenly remembered, "you're trying to fix him. Because now it's convenient and you need him. Have you ever considered that he might be past fixing?"

In truth, Hermione had, but had dismissed the thought as paranoid. "Yes," she said, "but I really think he can be fixed. You don't know Mug­gles, Ginny, you don't know how good they are at fixing people like Harry. He was strong before he got like this, you know that. The Muggle medicine will at least help him get back to the way he was. He should be better by the time we finish getting these Horcruxes. And then we can finish this thing."

"Do you really think getting rid of Voldemort is going to end this?"

"I have to. But more than that, I know what's going to end this. We're going to have to rebuild the world so that this can't happen again, or that the chances of it happening again are less."

"Rebuild one thousand years of Wizarding history. Well, if _that's_ all it's going to take."

"I didn't say it was going to be _easy_," Hermione protested, and even in the dark she could feel herself blushing. "The right thing isn't always the easy thing. I'd say the right thing _usually_ isn't the easy thing."

Ginny sighed. "You sound like Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione felt herself turn a deeper pink. "I'm not nearly as clever as he was."

"I wish he were here. Somehow, I think we wouldn't be in this mess if we had him."

"No," said Hermione, glum, "we probably wouldn't be. Good night, Ginny." And she rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke early the next morning, too nervous to really sleep well, and went downstairs to find Angel and Remus chatting at the kitchen table while Cresswell made toast. The shades were pulled on all the windows. Angel had a mug of something dark and thick in front of him; Hermione politely avoided saying anything about it. 

". . . didn't find much," Angel was saying. "In Los Angeles there's always someone on the streets willing to talk with a little persuasion. But I hardly saw anyone when I was out patrolling. No vampires either." He frowned.

"Aah," Cresswell said, piling toast onto a plate. "Not wise to be out after dark here. Never know when a Death Eater might be looking for a bit of fun. This end of town's a little safer, but not by much."

Lupin looked up over his cup of tea and gave Hermione a small smile. "Good morning, Hermione. Sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected, thanks." She took a seat at the table.

"Have some toast," Cresswell said, putting the plate on the table. "Got plenty."

Hermione took a slice and started spreading strawberry jam on it. "So you were out patrolling last night?"

Angel grunted. "Thought I'd get the lay of the land. It's been years since I've been to Bath. And I hoped I might hear something about this Horcrux we're looking for."

"Well, I did some research last night," Hermione said, and briefed Angel on what she'd discovered last night. Angel listened, staring fixedly at his mug.

"Makes sense," he said finally.

"We were planning to check the site today," Remus said. "See if we could confirm Hermione's suspicions."

"What, and leave us behind?" asked Spike, popping into the kitchen. "Well, that hardly seems fair, having all the fun without us."

Remus exchanged a glance with Hermione. "We have ways of transporting you both in there."

Hermione nodded. She, Lupin, and Ginny were all rated for Side-Along Apparition, although she didn't like it much. Ginny was probably the best at it.

"We'll go later this morning," he continued. "Give Ginny some time to sleep."

Hermione snorted. "Ginny will sleep all day if you let her."

* * *

It took some work to rouse Ginny, but around eleven, Remus, Ginny, Hermione, Wesley, and Illyria set off for Monkton Farleigh in the Nova. Af­ter a certain amount of driving around in circles and arguing over which landmarks were which on the map, they finally managed to find one of the entrances into the districts. It wasn't much, just a dilapidated old barn with a bright red roof. 

"This is it, you say, Hermione?" Lupin asked.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

They filed in through a doorframe that was missing its door and looked around for the entrance. Looking up, Hermione saw that the roof was more sky than roof.

"Here," Ginny said, turning towards the left end of the building. The barn butted up against a wide, arched tunnel that had been bricked in a few feet in. A steel door set in the wall had been pried open and had trash piled in front of it so it couldn't be opened.

Wesley looked at the graffiti covering the gray bricks, a mix of ad­ven­turers and teenagers announcing their presence. "I thought you said the vandals hadn't gotten to this."

"The deep level areas," she said. "Of course they've done all the stuff that's easy to get to. But Voldemort wouldn't hide the Horcrux up this way because of that."

"Shall we get in already?" said Ginny irritably. "There's no telling who or what saw us come out here."

Remus led the way down the tunnel, followed by Hermione, with Ginny taking up the rear. Carefully, they picked their way down the stairs, avoiding what debris they could. The tunnel gave almost immediately to darkness, causing Hermione, Remus, and Ginny to hold up their wands and whisper, "_Lumos!_" nearly in sync. The ends of their wands lit and Wesley raised his eyebrows.

"Useful," he said.

"We should get Angel and Spike," Hermione said, looking around.

"Ginny and I will do it," Lupin said. "Wait here, Hermione."

The two of them Disapparated with an echoing crack, leaving Hermio­ne, Wesley, and Illyria in a small circle of light from Hermione's wand. Wesley, who hadn't seen anyone Disapparate before, was looking a little poleaxed. Illyria was as hard to read as always.

"They'll be back shortly," Hermione said. "Apparition is terribly useful."

"I'm sure," said Wesley. "There have been times when I could have used the ability to pop out of a fight."

"So what do you think of all this?" Hermione asked.

Wesley looked around. "I think you're right, that this is an excellent place to hide things. You say it's guarded?"

"Most likely. They'll probably be further in, though. They wouldn't want to be seen by the few visitors this place gets."

Looking thoughtful, Wesley asked, "How do your kind – wizards – fight? It can't be all throwing punches. Have you got magical weapons?"

Hermione waved her wand. "Our most powerful magical weapon is this," she said. "There's a variety of –"

She was interrupted by the loud, simultaneous cracks that were Ginny and Remus returning with Angel and Spike, respectively. Angel looked stoic as always, but Spike was shaking his head. "That's quite a trip," he said. "Let's try and not do that again, shall we?"

"It's how we get around and it won't hurt you," Ginny said tartly.

Spike started to retort, but Hermione began speaking again. "Well, it won't hurt for those two to know this, Wesley. Wizards fight with wands and curses," she informed the Muggles. "Physical combat is rare – the Death Eaters don't like getting their hands dirty. Wesley, the curses will affect you the same as they do us, but I don't know how they'll affect you, Angel and Spike."

"Easy way to find out," said Ginny. "_Spinosus!_" With a flick of her wand, she sent a Stinging Hex at Spike.

"Ow!" he said, waving his hand, which had a raised red welt.

"It'll go down in a couple minutes," Ginny said. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"Well, all right," Hermione said. "So we know they can be affected by some curses. Death Eaters play dirty," she warned. "There are three curses we call the Unforgivable Curses. They'll use all of these and more. One of them is the Cruciatus Curse. _Crucio_ is the incantation. It causes intolerable pain in the victim."

Hermione shuddered. She had been put under the Cruciatus Curse in one of her battles against Death Eaters. The depth of pain was hard to describe. She had felt like she was burning inside and out with no way to stop the flames while her every bone broke and grated within her. It was like being put through a meat grinder while on the rack. The Cruciatus still gave her screaming, sweating nightmares that made it hard to go to sleep again after she'd had one.

"Another is the Imperius Curse," she continued. "_Imperio_ is the incan­tation for that. It lets the caster control the victim. The last is the worst, the Killing Curse. _Avada Kedavra_."

"From the same root as _abracadabra_," Wesley said, frowning.

"Not quite that benign. _Avada Kedavra_ kills on contact," Hermione said. "It can't be blocked. _Watch out_ for that one. They will try to use it."

There was a moment of silence while the Wolfram & Hart team pro­cessed that. Finally, Remus asked, "Is everyone ready to go? In we go, then."

The group proceeded down the entry tunnel, Hermione checking her map and using _Point Me_ a few times to figure out where in the complex they were. At the bottom of the shaft they picked their way through the debris, old tires and scrap metal, that had been hurled down the tunnel. They regrouped near a small booth still bearing some of its wartime paint underneath a layer of graffitied arrows and slogans. Hermione gestured them into a huddle to examine her map.

"We're here," she said, pointing to a small section a ways off from the rest of the complex. "I doubt the Horcrux is in here. Judging from the material online, people have explored this section fairly thoroughly. They've also explored down this entrance, this entrance, and this one," she said, pointing to entrances at the north, east, and south. "Some of these sections have been sealed off."

Remus studied the map thoughtfully. "You're sure we can get into the main section from here?"

"Mostly."

"I think this is our best bet," he said, indicating a section to the south.

"It's as good a start as any," Wesley said. "Let's go."

Hermione took the lead, the group sorting itself out behind her, with Remus at the rear of the group.

The journey through the ammunition depot was one of the stranger walks Hermione had experienced. They walked in a bubble of light created by the wizards' wands, with the light falling off into shadow when they passed side tunnels. Ventilation ducts and electrical wiring ran across the ceiling, sometimes twisting off to follow tunnels or jutting out to rejoin the main duct. Debris littered the floor in sections, and in some spots light rail tracks were left behind. As they walked, the colorful graffiti of the higher sections gave way to wartime signs prohibiting smoking and spitting and offering directions to the nearest shelter. Every now and then a fluorescent arrow painted by a previous explorer would guide the way.

Mostly they were silent. Ginny breathed, "This is _weird_," once, and there was a muffled curse from Wesley once as he stubbed his toe on some debris. The sounds of dripping water echoed through the complex, competing with the sounds of their footsteps. The air was heavy and dusty and smelled of wet and mold. At one point they passed a small office, still painted cream and green on the inside.

Hermione led them through the district, finally coming upon the long tunnel that led down to the rest of the facility. The concrete and carved rock of the district gave way to a rough bored tunnel, shored up in spots with corrugated iron, making their footsteps echo oddly in spots. The slightest rustle caused shivers and jumps.

Hermione had totally lost track of time as they crept along the passage, although she was able to catch them up on the map as they had to squeeze through a hole torn in a wall to pass to the next district. She considered suggesting that they explore this district, since it was here, but discarded that idea. Remus was probably right about the location of the Horcrux, and there was no need to waste time down a side passage.

Finally, somewhere between the side district and their destination, Ginny stopped. "I've had enough of this," she said. "Let's make sure we're heading the right direction." She brought up her wand. "_Accio Horcrux!_"

A jet of orange light went rocketing along the corridor in front of them.

"I daresay we probably are," Wesley said, with some dryness.

Remus looked at Ginny, more amused than anything. "Wanting a fight, Miss Weasley?"

"Anything's better than this," she muttered, relighting her wand. "I've had enough of this."

The group continued in the direction Ginny's spell had taken, still finding the passage deserted and dark. Finally, Hermione wasn't sure how much time later, the passage stopped at a brick wall.

Remus looked politely confused in the light of his wand. "I thought you said we could get through to the main section."

Hermione was confused herself. "They did." Then it hit her and she groaned. "In 1988, which is when the team did their big exploration."

Eyeing the wall suspiciously, Spike asked, "So are we thinking this is Voldyface's handiwork?"

"Most likely," Remus confirmed.

Ginny aimed her wand at the wall. "_Reducto!_" she said, and then had to duck as the Reductor Curse ricocheted back at her. The curse blasted a hole in the wall behind her. "Oops," she said, turning to look at the damage.

"_Reparo_," Hermione said, waving her wand at the hole. The rubble flew back into the hole and it sealed over as if no damage were ever done.

"No, brute force won't do it," said Lupin. "Not with Voldemort. I wonder . . ." He walked up to the wall and laid a hand on it. Hermione saw him concentrating immensely and knew he was trying to sense what en­chantments might lie on the partition. Harry had told her once of how Dumbledore was able to sense magic just by looking at objects. Remus was not up to that level but had been working at detecting spells.

After a few minutes of standing there with his eyes closed, Remus opened his eyes and blinked. "I've got it," he said. "It's not a wall. It's a door. Hermione, this was always one of your specialties."

Hermione pointed her wand at the door and as an experiment, said, "_Finite Incantatem!_" Nothing happened, but then she hadn't really been ex­pecting anything to happen. After a moment of rummaging through the spells she knew, she came up with one that might work, the Un-Trans­figuring Spell, which forced a Transfigured object to revert to its original form.

Focusing herself, she made the wiggly wand movement that was part of the Un-Transfiguring Spell and called, "_Discommutatus!_"

The wall shimmered and waved briefly, but otherwise remained a wall.

"Maybe if we all try it together?" suggested Ginny.

"Certainly worth a try," said Lupin. He and Ginny lined up on either side of Hermione, and in concert they cried, "_Discommutatus!_"

The wall warped and its original form, a rusty blast door, was visible for several seconds, but ultimately the wall remained a wall.

"Now what?" Ginny asked.

Spike said, with some relish, "There's always brute force."

"This is done by the one who dares to walk in my power?" Illyria asked, startling at least Ginny.

"I believe so," answered Remus.

"His power cannot stand before mine. I will not see his power defeat my own." Illyria walked to the door and waved a hand. It shimmered, as it had when Hermione cast her spell, but then it changed into a blast door – and remained that way.

"One of these days you're going to have to tell me just what Illyria is and how it does that," Hermione said under her breath to Wesley.

He inclined his head. "I'll tell you when I know myself."

Cautiously, the group stepped through the blast doors. Hermione indicated with a jerk of her wand that they should head right, to the south, and they crept along a long, straight tunnel. The concrete supports for something – possibly a conveyor belt, Hermione decided – stuck up at regular intervals. Signs painted on the way every now and then informed them of how to cut the power if necessary.

Hermione realized that their lit wands made them far too visible to pa­trolling Death Eaters. She had just whispered, "_Nox_," to put out her own wand, when a Death Eater shot out of a side passage and started firing spells at the group.

The group scattered, diving for cover. Hermione hunched behind a conveyor support. Ginny was first to recover, trying to get off a Bat-Bogey Hex. Remus was on the floor, firing curses and jinxes down the hall as fast as he could snap them off. Peeking over the top of the support, making as small of a target as possible, Hermione noticed that none of the spells were making contact with the Death Eater. It couldn't be that they were all that lousy of an aim. Testing a hypothesis, she seized a piece of metal debris and threw it at the Death Eater.

He danced away from it so that her throw missed by a mile, but she kept it up, pelting the Death Eater with debris to see what he would do. One piece finally made contact with him with a dull thump, and in return Hermione had to scramble away from her makeshift cover as he blasted it with a Reductor Curse.

So he wasn't Imperturbed. He was too far away for her to see precisely what he was doing, besides keeping up a barrage of spells. She crawled to the conveyor support behind Remus, who was still shooting off curses as fast as he thought of them. Thinking a moment, Hermione started making the large looping circles with her wand that were required for the Revealing Spell she had in mind.

_One . . . two . . . three_ . . . When Hermione had completed four of the wide circles, she abruptly jabbed her wand at the Death Eater and cried, "_Adapertio Magia!_"

The area around the Death Eater suddenly lit up with a flickering green light, casting eerie shadows throughout the shaft. The Revealing Spell Hermione had used made the magical forces around an individual visible. She knew what that green meant.

"Do you see that?" she called to Ginny and Lupin. "He's keeping up a Shield Spell. We can't hit him unless we manage to break the spell."

"I'm damn well going to try to get something through anyway," Ginny said, and started firing faster.

The Death Eater had fallen back under Hermione's barrage of junk, but now he was advancing on them, firing curses the entire way. She saw move­ment out of the corner of her eye and realized it was Angel, withdrawing from cover. "Enough of this," he said. "If you can't hit him, I will."

Angel ran up the corridor, charging the Death Eater. The wizards held their fire to avoid hitting him. At the last minute, the Death Eater started firing spells at Angel, but by then Angel was there. With a right hook, he sent the Death Eater reeling. Angel then grabbed him by his shirtfront and slammed him against the wall.

Relighting her wand, Hermione sprinted up the hall, followed by the rest of the group, clustering in a loose group around Angel. As she caught up, she saw that he was in full vampire face. She took a moment to ap­pre­ciate the effect it seemed to be having on the Death Eater.

"I like to be polite," he said, "even if you don't, so I'll start by introdu­cing myself. I'm Angel. What's your name?"

"I have no name."

Angel thumped him against the wall, hard. Hermione heard the Death Eater wheeze as the air was knocked out of him and noticed that his feet weren't touching the ground.

"We'll try again. I'm Angel. What's your name?"

"Montague," the Death Eater gasped, still winded. "Dominic Monta­gue."

"Now we're getting somewhere. What are you down here for, Domin­ic?"

He tried to sneer but was obviously in an advanced stage of fright. "I am in my Master's service."

Angel thumped him again and hoisted him a little higher. "That kind of crap isn't going to fly, Dominic. We know you're down here for a reason, because – guess what – _we're_ down here for a reason. You tell us what _your_ reason is."

Montague gasped and wheezed. Hermione was, with horror, vaguely re­calling him as a student at Hogwarts, a Slytherin. She moved next to Lupin and whispered, "Wasn't he a –"

"Student at Hogwarts?" Remus finished her sentence for her. "Yes. He's a few years older than you. I taught him myself."

She almost missed Montague's response to Angel. "I am in – he does not tell –" he choked out. "He does not tell us everything!" Angel pulled him away from the wall again and he hastily said, "There is a thing – a thing – I am a guard! He has set us to guard –"

"Great." Angel put Montague down. "You're going to lead us to this thing you're guarding."

"And if you try any funny business, I'll eat you," Spike said, obviously trying to be helpful.

Angel favored him with a look. "_Spike_."

"All right," Spike grumbled, "I've got a lot of friends that'll hex your knees off if you act up."

With Ginny holding him at wandpoint, Montague led the group through the twisting corridors of the district. Hermione noticed something and edged her way up beside Montague. "How come we haven't seen any­one else down here?" she demanded. "You can't be the only guard. Where are the other guards?"

"They're guarding their own corridors," Montague said. "There are several objects that we guard."

That caused the wizards to exchange looks. "We'll be needing to see the other objects, then, Mr. Montague," Lupin said. He bobbed his head at Her­mione, and she, recognizing the gesture, fell back alongside him.

"Multiple objects?" she asked, under her breath.

He answered equally quietly. "Can't be multiple Horcruxes."

"_Decoys_," she breathed. "I _thought_ this was too easy."

"Too easy?" Lupin looked amused.

Hermione gave him a chiding look. "You have to admit, aside from the door, this has been _awfully_ easy. No traps, no obstacles, and one Death Eater."

"The whole thing's a trap, Hermione."

Of that, she was certain. The entire time they had been underground, Hermione had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, the axe to fall. Harry had told her in thorough and chilling detail of what he and Professor Dumbledore had gone through to find the false horcrux. They hadn't encountered anything near as terrible as Inferi or charmed potions, but knowing Voldemort, they would.

Montague led them nearly to the end of the conveyor belt corridor, finally turning to the left into one of the side passages. His pace slowed and Angel poked him in the small of the back. "Keep moving," Angel growled.

"Sorry," Montague said, and lurched forward again. With only Hermio­ne's wand lit, it was exponentially darker. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny shudder, but her wand remained steady. Montague led them up along what remained of a light rail track, passing side bays and avoiding piles of debris. Hermione noted that the marks of previous explorers were almost nonexistent here and wondered how many years it had been since anyone but Death Eaters traveled these corridors.

Upon reaching the end of the corridor, Montague led them to the right, down another thruway, pillars occasionally shoring up the ceiling. Bays were carved into the side and Hermione watched the numbers increase as they walked by. The group was silent, apprehensive, as if waiting to see what Montague had in mind for them.

The passage forked at the end of the tunnel and Montague led them right again, moving into a twisting maze where Hermione soon lost her sense of direction. This all appeared to be original to the site and Hermione pondered how many stacks and crates of ammunition could have been squirreled away in here, waiting for use on the front.

Finally, Montague stopped, standing in front of a short corridor that appeared to end in a dead end. "The object is down this way," he said. "This is as far as I go. It's protected from here."

"How so?" Ginny demanded.

"I do not know." Angel leaned in and Montague seemed to crouch into himself. "I don't – I do not know! The Dark Lord has only told me that there is an object to be guarded, and that it has protections on it so that none can steal it."

_Protections_. Hermione wasn't fond of the sound of that.

"This is as far as you go?" Angel asked.

Montague nodded vigorously. Hermione noted his obvious fright at proceeding down the hall and was further suspicious.

"Then stay here," Angel said. He grabbed Montague by the collar and pulled back a fist, but Ginny's voice rang out.

"_Stupefy!_" Ginny said. Montague drooped in Angel's grip and Angel released him, leaving him in a disorganized heap on the ground.

Angel looked at her, slightly petulant. "Way to – I was going to do that."

"And he'd stay out for six hours? This way doesn't leave marks."

Angel grumbled and readjusted the collar on his jacket as they moved further down the hall. Spike looked gleeful, but for once, didn't say anything. Illyria trailed behind the group, stopping to stare at a fixed point.

It turned out the corridor wasn't a dead end, but hooked abruptly and invisibly to the right at the end of the hall. They turned, and then saw, there on a pedestal, a small object glinting in the light of Hermione's wand. They were halfway down this second hall when the corridor behind them filled with a crimson-colored mist.

"That's never a good sign," said Spike.

"Shut up," said Ginny, striding forward to study the pedestal. Hermione hurried forward after her, holding her wand high and casting wobbly shadows along the corridor. She caught up with Ginny to find her staring bemusedly at a small bronze brooch, oval, with a raised carving of an eagle.

"Ravenclaw's brooch," she breathed. So this was the Ravenclaw Horcrux.

"There's something written on the pedestal," Ginny pointed out. In­deed, two-inch tall letters wound around the edge of the pedestal. Hermione changed the angle of her wand, but couldn't get the letters out of shadow.

"Something written?" Remus asked. "_Lumos_." He came up beside Her­mione, and the combined light illuminated the pedestal enough for them to read the words carved there: _Nemo sed decertator contrecto mihi._

Hermione read the words aloud to the rest of the group, and started puzzling out what it meant. She'd joined the Latin Club, which was com­prised mostly of Ravenclaws, for one term, but had to drop out.

"Latin," Spike groaned. "Utterly unimaginative, your Voldemort. _Every­one_ uses Latin when they're trying to hide something."

"Except for you, I suppose," said Ginny, giving Spike a sharp look.

"Well, yeah," he said. "If I'm hiding it, obviously I know how to use it, but no point making sure anyone else can. If you've got to leave a tip, might as well be creative and leave it in Bulgarian or something like that."

"Let me see it," said Angel, from the rear of the group. He edged up between Hermione and Lupin and scowled down at the pedestal. After a few minutes, he said, "It means, 'None but a champion may touch me.' At least, I think that's what it's supposed to mean, but the conjugation's a little –" He looked up to find Hermione and Ginny giving him impressed looks and said, sheepishly, "Well, two hundred years in Europe, you tend to pick up some languages."

"So, a champion, eh," said Spike, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Well, who do we know here that's a champion?"

Angel turned to give him a disgusted look. "_One_ little fight and suddenly –"

"_I_ am," said Ginny. Hermione turned to her questioningly and Ginny said, "We won the Quidditch Cup three years in a row, I think that makes me champion enough."

From the very back of the group, Wesley said, alarm clear in his voice, "I don't think that's –" but it was too late. Ginny reached for the brooch, but the moment she touched the brooch she screamed, piercingly, and then fell to the ground in a heap.

"Ginny!" Hermione yelped. She dropped to her knees beside her and checked for a pulse; luckily, Ginny still had one, although it wasn't strong. Thinking back on the books of medical magic she'd read, she pointed her wand at Ginny and said, "_Ennervate!_" When Ginny didn't stir, she tried again. "_Rennervate! Episkey!_" Nothing.

"Is she –" Remus asked, also kneeling beside Ginny.

"She's alive, but this is something . . ."

Lupin took Ginny's hand and again had that frowning, probing look. After a minute, he said, "She's all right, but she won't wake until we can take her to Poppy Pomfrey. She'll have to be carried."

Angel looked grim. "I think I'm the kind of champion they mean. It's a long story. I'll –" He reached out quickly over Lupin and Hermione and seized the brooch. "Hey, I got –" he said, and then he vanished.

"_Damn_," Remus said, with feeling. "I was afraid of that."

"What was that?" Wesley asked, still looking agitated. "Is he –"

"He's probably all right," Lupin said, straightening, "but there's no tell­ing where he is. That was probably a Portkey. A decoy, charmed to trans­port the holder to a predetermined location."

"_Damn_," Wesley echoed.

"Well, now what?" asked Spike. "We appear to be down a champion, not that I'm complaining exactly, Miss Red there is comatose, and we still don't know where the real Horcrux is. Cliched use of Latin or whatnot, your boy Voldemort appears to be one up on us."

"Spike," said Wesley, "_shut up_."

Hermione, still kneeling beside Ginny, noticed Illyria look thoughtful, but it didn't say anything. "We should probably wake Montague and see if he can lead us to some of the other objects," she said, rising and dusting her knees off. "There must be a way to tell if they're decoys besides grabbing them and seeing what happens."

Lupin and Wesley concurred, so after Hermione cast a quick, "_Mobilicor­pus!_" on Ginny, the group traveled back up the hall, pausing at the crimson mist. "What do you think this is?" Wesley asked, glancing at Remus.

Lupin looked slightly apprehensive and shook his head. "I really don't know."

"Well, in we go then," said Spike, stepping into the mist, and vanishing. Hermione's heart just had time to sink – not another one, not now – and then Spike's voice said, "Oi! What's all this then?"

"Spike? What's going on?" Wesley asked.

"You'd better have a look," Spike said loudly.

Hermione stepped forward into the mist, towing Ginny at her side, and was immediately engulfed by – nothing. Sensory vacuum. She felt as if she were floating weightless in absolute blackness. Experimentally, she tried stomping the ground and waving her hand in front of her face, and while she could feel herself moving, she couldn't see her hand or feel any effect of the stomping.

"Hello?" she called, or tried to – she was fairly sure she'd actually said the word, but she couldn't hear it if she had. If the others were trying to speak, she couldn't hear them as well.

_Well_, she thought, lapsing into internal monologue, _obviously I'm not floating weightless in some pool of blackness somewhere – at least, the odds are against that. So let's presume that I'm simply in some sort of sensory deprivation field and I'm still in the depot. That means that even if I can't feel the floor, it's there, and if I move like I'm walking I should actually _be_ walking._

She tried to picture the hall and count the number of steps she should take. She turned at what she thought was the appropriate point, and just as she thought that maybe she had been walking into a wall this entire time and she should try again, she popped out of the field, Ginny still by her side. Illyria, looking bored, and Remus, looking concerned, were there waiting for her.

"Oh, good," Lupin said, and just as he said that, Wesley stepped out of the mist, trying hard not to look disconcerted. Hermione looked down and saw Montague, still slumped in the pile Angel had left him in.

After a minute, Spike came flying out of the field, waving his arms wildly and nearly tripping over Ginny. "Oh, sorry," he said, righting himself, and then he looked at Lupin. "What _was_ that?"

"Some sort of sensory-deprivation field," he said, and Hermione noted that he had come to the same conclusion she had. "Voldemort knows more about the Dark Arts than any other living wizard. Good to see we've all made it out." Lupin looked down at Montague, who was beginning to drool. "And now we see what else Mr. Montague knows."

He knelt in front of Montague and pressed his wand to his chest. "_Rennervate_," Remus said quietly, and Montague's entire body convulsed as he jerked back to awareness, blinking wildly. His eyes fixed on Lupin's and Hermione saw him start to work up a sneer.

Keeping his wand pressed to Montague's chest, Lupin reached out and grabbed the front of Montague's robes, knotting them around his fist. "Good afternoon, Mr. Montague," Lupin said, deceptively pleasant. "I'm Remus Lupin. You may remember me. I was your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during your fourth year – then again, you may not, as your marks generally indicated you were only physically present for my classes."

The sneer developed fully on Montague's face. "The werewolf," he said.

"Ah, yes," Lupin said, "I am that."

"Snape told us you were a werewolf. He said you were weak."

"Severus _would_ say that about me," Remus said, musingly. "I suppose he's entitled to his opinion. All pleasantries aside, Mr. Montague, I'm sure you can guess why you've been awoken. The object you were guarding was _not_ the object we were looking for, and we need to know where the others are."

Surly, Montague said, "I don't know."

"And that's where we differ, Mr. Montague – I think you do."

"I told you, the Dark Lord does not tell us where the objects are. Only the ones we are supposed to guard."

Remus shifted his weight, a politely disbelieving expression on his face, and Montague added, slightly hurried, "I am not afraid of you!"

"Because I don't have fangs? Or because of what Severus has told you?" Remus shifted position again, still wearing that same placid expression, and Montague suddenly shifted and went white. "You see, Mr. Montague, I may not practice the Dark Arts, but certainly I had to know about them to teach you how to defend against them. And, well, when one is a werewolf, one sometimes has to seek . . . _unusual_ methods of employment. I learned _this_ trick during a job in Lithuania."

Lupin's hand dropped from Montague's shirtfront. In the dim wand­light, Hermione thought she saw him take Montague's hand and start pushing one finger back, but it was hard to tell.

"I found this very effective for getting people to tell me what I wanted to know," Lupin said, pushing farther. "Or pay me what they owed me, more usually. Relatively quick and painless – for me, anyway."

Beads of sweat were glinting on Montague's forehead, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. Remus pried back another of Montague's fingers and kept pushing. Worriedly, Hermione bit her lip – Remus couldn't mean to –

With a crunching sound, Montague's fingers snapped. He let out an involuntary howl and shuddered. Lupin surveyed his work and asked, "Do you know where the other objects are now, Mr. Montague?"

Montague gasped, shaking, but managed to force out, "No."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Montague," Lupin said, pushing another of Montague's fingers back. Hermione looked back over her shoulder at Wesley, who looked concerned yet grim, and Illyria, who was again staring at the walls. Wesley returned her look and one side of his mouth tightened.

Despite knowing what it would sound like this time, she still wasn't ready for the sound of Montague's finger breaking, and it made her flinch. He howled and swore, choking back sobs. Again, Remus asked, "Do you know where the other objects are now, Mr. Montague?"

And this time, swearing and sobbing, Montague said, "Yes."

"Good." Remus stood up, hauling Montague to his feet with him and brushing himself off. Montague winced and cradled his broken fingers.

"Lead on," Lupin said, and moaning and cursing, Montague started walking back up the hall. Hermione stood, knees cracking, and Spike came to stand by her for a moment.

"Well, that was entertaining," he said. "Didn't think your boy had that in him."

Hermione gave Spike what she knew was a tired, sour expression. "Spike," she said, "_shut up_."

* * *

Hermione noticed Montague was taking a much more direct approach out this time, rather than leading them back and forth through the district. He led them back up the conveyor passage, retracing their steps. She watched their progress, one eye on the map, inside buzzing with worry. What had happened to Ginny, still bobbing along at her side? And where was Angel? And Remus – breaking bones – 

She stepped on a rock that broke under her foot, echoing the sound Montague's fingers had made as they snapped, and she winced.

Their trip was again silent. Spike seemed to be doing as she had told him, and Wesley appeared wrapped up in his own thoughts. Hermione wondered what he was thinking about. Was he thinking on the same thing she was, that outside it was still daylight? If she had gotten Angel killed, through her own half-formed plan, would he forgive her?

Montague led the group back through the rusting blast doors and out into the arched tunnel of the drift between districts. They picked their way along the tunnel, avoiding the debris, and following the arrows toward the exit. Hermione missed it when Montague stopped walking and actually con­tinued along the corridor a few feet before Remus said, "Hermione, here."

She backtracked and stood with the rest of the group, although her every instinct told her that there was nothing important about this tunnel, it was a trap Montague had cooked up, and they should avoid it. "Here?" she asked. "But it's not down there. This is a trap."

Lupin tilted his head to one side and gave her a look that reminded her of Hogwarts. "Explain how you've come to that conclusion."

"Well, it's just . . ." She gestured at the tunnel. "I feel it. All over me. It's . . ."

"Yes, there is that. I feel it too. But does Mr. Montague have any reason to lie to us, Hermione?"

She looked at Montague's hunched posture and again heard that crunch­ing sound. "No."

"Do you have any evidence, aside from your instinct, that we should not go down this tunnel?"

"No . . ." Hermione had to admit, it wasn't like her to rely on instinct. She preferred the world of facts, of research, ink on a page. She concentrated and felt some of the aversion lessening.

Looking up at Lupin, she found him watching her intently. "There's a charm on it? So we won't go in?"

Montague spat, "Repelling Charm."

Lupin looked pleased that she had figured it out. "So in we go then, do you think, Hermione?"

"Yes," she said.

Prodding Montague in the shoulder, Lupin stepped forward, the group trailing after him. Together, they stepped into the darkness of the district.

This district was much more open than the others. Montague followed the right wall into a side corridor, then turned to the right as the corridor doubled back. At the end of the hall, by the light of their combined wands, Hermione could see another pedestal and another brooch glinting.

"It's the same as the other," she said, as they walked up on it. Lupin was physically towing a cringing Montague. She looked behind them and saw that the corridor had filled with a green mist, then turned her attention back to the pedestal. Down to the engraving around the edge, it was an exact copy of the other pedestal. But Montague swore this was the real thing.

"_Nemo sed decertator contrecto mihi_," she read. "But without Angel, we're out of champions."

"I beg your pardon!" Spike said, looking highly affronted. "I'll have you know I'm every bit as much a champion as that old poofter. I even died to save the world, and what'd he ever do? Tried to end the world a couple times, is all, but he gets the credit _and_ the girl."

"If you're such a champion, then, Spike, grab the Horcrux," Lupin said, struggling with Montague.

"Right, then, I think I will." Spike reached out and took the Horcrux, and – Hermione held her breath – nothing happened. And nothing contin­ued to happen. Hermione sighed in relief.

Spike looked smug. "Well, how about that." He examined the brooch closely. "Well, now that we've got this trinket, I vote we pop out of here and go for drinks. I could use a pint."

"I do believe you're forgetting something," Wesley said.

"What, who pays?"

"_Spike_," said Wesley.

"Oh, all _right_," Spike said, tucking Ravenclaw's brooch in his pocket. "So has anyone got any ideas for finding Peaches? Because if you ask me, he could be anywhere."

"I had one," Hermione said, and it was true, although she'd only just realized it. She lifted her wand and said clearly, "_Accio_ Angel's jacket!" The streak of orange light zipped through the green field and around the corner.

"There's just one thing we've got to deal with," said Lupin, "and then we can go." Hermione turned to watch as he pushed Montague, who had stopped fighting when Spike took the horcrux, up against the wall. Mon­ta­gue flinched as his broken hand hit the stone. Lupin surveyed Montague with a pitying, rueful expression.

"Severus was right about one thing," he said. "I am weak." He aimed his wand at Montague's fingers. "_Episkey!_"

With another popping sound, Montague's fingers snapped back into place, healed. Hermione cringed at the sound.

"Voldemort would have done your entire hand," Lupin said to Monta­gue. "And left it. You may not think you have a choice, now that you've joined him. But if you decide you want out, we'll find you. Remember that. _Stupefy!_"

Montague dropped down the wall and hit the ground with a muffled thump. Lupin sighed and walked over to the green mist.

"What do you suppose this does?" Hermione asked.

Staring at the mist meditatively, Remus said, "I'm afraid I don't know."

"I'm not testing this one," Spike said. "I've got precious cargo."

"Fine," Hermione said, and stepped forward – and immediately fought the urge to retch as she found herself dangling from the ceiling, the rest of the team standing below her. Closing her eyes, she stepped forward – and couldn't control her stomach as she turned right side up again. She leaned over and vomited, leaving a bitter, acidic taste in her mouth.

"Hermione?" Remus asked, concerned.

She straightened up, shuddering and embarrassed, and Vanished the pile of sick. "It's an inversion field. I was on the ceiling – didn't you see me?"

"No," Wesley said. "You stayed on the ground. You stepped into the mist, then you stepped back out."

Hermione tried to discreetly wipe her mouth. "I _felt_ like I was on the ceiling. And I tried to step forward. It's probably safe, but we should be careful."

"Thank you, Hermione," said Remus, and he stepped into the mist. She watched his posture stiffen as he adjusted to the feeling of dangling from the ceiling. Wesley and Spike walked in after him, and after a moment all three started moving, albeit very slowly.

She gave her stomach a few minutes to settle down, minutes in which Lupin, Spike and Wesley managed to move halfway through the mist. Watching them, she guessed that right and left were also reversed, causing them to do odd dances as they tried to keep from bumping into each other. Illyria followed Wesley's progress for a minute, then looking disdainful, strode across before any of them could exit the mist.

That left Hermione alone on the horcrux side. Swallowing rapidly, she stepped forward and winced as her sense of direction flip-flopped. She breathed deeply, working to control the panicky little voice inside her head which screamed that she was _upside-down_ and she should _get down now_ and tried to think rationally. If a step forward had catapulted her out of the mist, before, then a step backward should move her forward. Slowly, she took a step backward . . . and was rewarded by moving further into the mist.

All right, she could do this. Backwards steps. _Small_ backwards steps. Spike, Wesley and Remus were hanging there on the ceiling ahead of her, while Illyria waited, right-side-up, on the other side.

It felt to Hermione like it took her hours to make it through the mist, although it was probably only a few minutes. She watched as, one by one, Wesley, Remus and Spike made it across and flipped right-side-up. Finally, it was her turn. She braced herself before she took the last step, and then had to hunch down and have the dry heaves anyway, although she had nothing left in her system.

While she was down, she checked on Ginny, who still had the same weak pulse. Well, at least she was alive.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Remus asked.

She heaved, spat, and managed to force out, "Yes." Pushing herself back to her feet, she said, "Let's go. _Accio_ Angel's jacket!"

The orange streak went rocketing around the corner and they were off, running through the mine to follow it. Hermione cast the spell at intervals to guide them. Back out into the drift, back through the steel doors . . . the spell led them to the left this time, up to the higher districts. They pelted up the corridor, Hermione in the lead, Ginny bobbing behind her, followed by Wesley and Lupin. She wasn't sure where Illyria was, anymore. The spell shot off to the right and after winding back and forth down a corridor, they found Angel, fighting with his coat, standing in a circle of downed Death Eaters.

"Is there a reason," he demanded, once the group came pelting into view, "that my coat – my _coat_ – has been trying to fly off of me for the last five minutes? Is it a demon? Some sort of poltergeist? Because I _really_ don't appreciate whatever it is."

Hermione might have giggled at Angel's total outrage if it hadn't been her fault. Instead she said, "I'm sorry – we didn't know where you were, and the Summoning Spell only works on inanimate objects."

"Could've been worse, Peaches," Spike said. "At least she didn't go for your pants."

Angel still looked frustrated, but he adjusted his jacket collar and said, "So what now?"

"Well, I think," Hermione said, glancing at Remus for confirmation, "that we've only got to figure out how we're all going to get out of here."

"You've got the Horcrux?" Angel asked. "But it said it took a –"

Spike waved and cut him off. "Right here, mate. Seems like I'm cham­pion enough for Voldedoodle."

Angel snorted and looked away. "Figures," he muttered.

"I suppose it's really just a question of who goes with whom," Remus said, glancing around the group. "Obviously, Hermione, your first trip is Ginny, and I suppose I should take Spike to be safe. Perhaps we should go one at a time so we can leave a light?"

"I suppose," Hermione said, although she was dreading the upcoming amount of Side-Along Apparition. Steeling herself, she said, "I'll go first."

Hermione reached out and grabbed Ginny's arm, picturing the room they were staying in at Cresswell's. Wizard courtesy be damned. She was going straight in. She focused, started the turn, and –

– she and Ginny were in Cresswell's house. Hermione cut the _Mobilicor­pus_ spell on Ginny, and then maneuvered her onto the camp bed. Sighing, she gazed down at Ginny's unconscious form for a moment, then, pictured the cavern at Monkton Farleigh, and started the turn . . .

With a _crack_ that echoed in the rock chamber, Hermione reappeared, solo, her stomach already turning. It took Remus only a few minutes to deposit Spike at Cresswell's, and then it was time for the next trip. Illyria proclaimed that it would "make my own way," leaving only Wesley and Angel to be transported. Grimacing, Hermione Apparated back to Cress­well's with Wesley. Leaving him in the lounge, she apologized and then dashed for the loo, kneeling beside the cistern and waiting for her stomach to stop churning.

After a few minutes, there was a tap on the door and she managed to groan, "Who is it?"

"Remus. Are you all right, Hermione?"

"Yes," she lied. "I just need a moment."

"All right." A pause. "I know the Apparition is hard on you. I'm sorry." He paused again. "I'm going to go get the car."

"Hang on," she said, and forced herself to her feet. She wrenched open the door. "I'm going with you."

Remus looked slightly surprised to see her on her feet but covered for it well. "You don't have to. I can find my way back."

"No, it's all right. I'm fine. Are you ready to go?" It was partially true, Hermione admitted; the actual dry heaves had stopped but she was still fighting waves of nausea.

"Well, if you're sure," Remus said, although he sounded dubious. "You go first and I'll follow you."

"All right." Hermione fixed the image of Remus's crumbling old car in her mind, closed her eyes, and turned – and winced as the weak Wiltshire sunshine hit her eyes. She opened her eyes at the _crack_ of Lupin's Apparition and found him eyeing her, not quite suspiciously.

"You're sure you're all right?" he asked.

"_Yes_," she said.

They were absorbed for a moment in the business of getting in the car and getting moving again. Lupin finally managed to convince the engine to turn over and the car jostled and creaked into motion.

Hermione was silent for a minute, carefully staring out the window, mulling over what she wanted to say to Remus. Finally, she said, "What are you thinking about?"

"I was actually wondering what you were thinking about."

She hesitated. "What you did . . . in the depot . . . with Montague . . . it was . . ."

"You mean, when I broke his fingers?" Remus concentrated on shifting the gearbox for a moment. "It's all right to be direct, Hermione."

"Yes, that," she said, uneasy. "I didn't think you could . . ."

"Didn't think I had it in me? You do what you have to, Hermione. This is war. And after all, isn't it what you've always done? What you had to?"

She flashed for a moment on a sixteen-year-old with bushy hair, leading Umbridge to the centaurs, and had to admit the truth in that. "Well, yes, I just . . . I hadn't really seen you do that before. Not so personally. And it . . . I don't know. It changes . . ."

Remus sighed, a tired-sounding noise. "Hermione, I've done worse things by far that you don't even know about. That I won't even tell you about, so don't ask me. I know. What I did to Montague was nasty and it was personal and I admit, it was disturbing. But would he have led us to the Horcrux if I hadn't? You have to do what gets results."

She didn't have a ready answer for that. She might have said, once, that even in times like these there was a line that should be respected. Then she thought of Umbridge, still twitchy and broken all these years later, and wondered if that was true. And her own inner voice came back to haunt her: _have I hired the most evil law firm on the planet to fight the most evil wizard on the planet?_

They were turning back to the main road to Bath now, and motored along in silence for a few minutes before she said, "I've been so wrapped up in my research, these past couple years, I didn't really realize what was going on outside the libraries. I only knew that things were bad and getting worse."

"No," Remus said, "no, this hasn't been a sweet and seemly war, Hermi­one. It's better that you found that out from me rather than from someone else. We tried being noble, but eventually, if your enemy won't come to you, you have to go to them." There was another pause of a few minutes, in which Hermione felt there was something Remus was leaving unsaid. She was opening her mouth to ask him what it was when he said casually, "Does it change what you think about me?"

Abruptly, Hermione closed her mouth, taken aback by the question. Minutes earlier, she had been about to tell him that yes, it had changed what she thought of him, but been unable to articulate that. Now, she realized that she wasn't sure. Monkton Farleigh had changed how she _saw_ Lupin, yes. But had it changed what she thought? She was less sure.

Finally, she said, "I don't know," aware of how inadequate an answer that was. Hermione hated not knowing the answers to questions she was asked, and this was no different.

"I understand," Remus said, and the hell of it was, Hermione knew he did.

"I think," she said, voice coming out higher pitched than she intended, "that maybe we should just let it go for now. We've really got more important things to worry about, like that Horcrux."

"If that's what you want," Lupin said.

The remainder of the ride to Cresswell's was silent and strained, the things left unsaid settling into a lump in Hermione's stomach. The silence in the car meant that the thoughts racing disorganized in Hermione's head were that much louder, the crunch of Montague's fingers echoing across her brain over and over again. Somehow, she knew they'd have this conversation again, and she was not comforted.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: This may be the last chapter for a bit; I'm in the midst of a cross-country move and that doesn't leave a lot of time for writing.

This chapter is for Belle, P.P.V.V, gatermage, BrennaM, Emi-Bum, Allen Pitt, abbynormal620, Toto, sln1987 and kate, plus everyone who thought it didn't suck and may not have taken the time to say so. On the days when you have convinced yourself that everything you write is crap and you should throw your keyboard off a cliff, feedback is a precious thing.

_Next time on Endlong into Midnight_: "Lucius Malfoy's cultured tones filled the air. 'Good afternoon,' he said. 'I am Lucius Malfoy, your Minister for Magic. Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to tell you. Earlier this afternoon, a Ministry facility was struck by terrorists. They injured several Ministry workers and stole an important item. We are tracking them, however, and do expect to apprehend them shortly. Please be assured that we believe this group is not a threat to individual members of the populace, and remember, if you see suspicious activity, report it to your nearest Ministry representative. Thank you, and I wish you well.'"


	4. The City of Hesitation and Doubt

Chapter Four  
_The City of Hesitation and Doubt_

Hermione and Lupin returned to Cresswell's, careful around each other, and found both Spike and Wesley slumped on Cresswell's sofa. Angel and Illyria were nowhere to be seen, and Cresswell himself was seated in a corner of the lounge, reading a book and resolutely ignoring his visitors. Spike had Ravenclaw's brooch out of his pocket and was turning it over and over in one hand, idly.

"Not much of a thing, is it?" he said, fingering the carved eagle.

"No," Hermione said, stepping forward to let Remus past. He headed for the stairs, going to check on Ginny. "But it's one of the most valuable artifacts in the entire wizarding world. Trust Voldemort to take a priceless relic and destroy it."

Wesley eyed the little bronze piece. "And there's a piece of Voldemort's soul in there?"

"We think so."

Looking thoughtful, Spike asked, "And if someone smashes it, that does in Voldeybloke?"

"Well, it weakens him," Hermione said. "It won't 'do him in.' Only Harry can do that."

"So I could just –" His fingers tightened around the brooch.

"_No, don't!_" Hermione said, flinging out an arm and nearly tripping over the coffee table in her haste to stop him. "We don't know enough about the Horcruxes to know what happens when you destroy one. Harry said one of them nearly killed Professor Dumbledore."

Spike made a face and set the brooch down. "Been there, done that, don't want the t-shirt."

Hermione heard steps on the stairs and turned to see Remus carrying Ginny, who was limp in his arms. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Meet you at the gates," Lupin said, and vanished with a loud _crack!_.

Hermione fixed the image of Hogwarts in her mind, started the turn, and Disapparated –

– reappearing in front of the gates of Hogwarts, which were locked. "I'll call Hagrid," she said, and Remus nodded as he shifted Ginny slightly. She pressed her wand to her temple, pictured Hagrid, and thought, _Hagrid, it's Hermione and Remus. We've got wounded. Will you unlock the gates?_

She broke contact, waved her wand, and her otter shot off up Hogwarts grounds, apparently headed for Hagrid's cottage. "I'm sure he'll be right down," she said, and rubbed her temples, where a tension headache was threatening to form. They had the Horcrux, but they also had a host of problems to go with it. Aside from the fact that they didn't know how to destroy it, Voldemort was likely to want it back. The one advantage they had was that he didn't seem to be able to sense the Horcruxes, and the blocks on locator spells applied to him too.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked Remus. Far up on Hogwarts' grounds, she saw a massive figure loping down the lawn toward them.

"Voldemort? Oh, certainly. Mr. Montague hasn't yet realized what I said to him."

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"Do you really want me to guess?" Remus said mildly, and then Hagrid was there, all moleskin coat and gushing concern.

"Wha' happened?" Hagrid asked, fumbling in his many pockets for the ring of Hogwarts and producing them with a jingle.

"Inside, Hagrid," Lupin said. Hagrid stepped back, pulling the gates open, and Hermione followed Lupin up the path leading to the castle.

The walk to the castle was silent. Hermione watched Ginny's head loll as Remus walked and worried on the dual problems of what had happened to Ginny and what they were going to do with this Horcrux. Hagrid paced them, his face crinkled with distress. Once they cleared the castle doors, Lupin looked around to make sure no students were within earshot and said, "She fell into a trap Voldemort set. Poppy should be able to sort her out."

Hagrid made a noise of dismay and insisted on accompanying them up to the hospital wing, but then had to return to teaching his Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione was privately relieved; the less Hagrid knew about what they were doing, the better. He was utterly loyal to the Order, but he was terrible at keeping secrets.

They entered the hospital ward to find it completely empty of students, an unusual occurrence for Hogwarts. Hermione turned to lock the doors behind them as Remus called, "Poppy? Poppy, are you here?"

Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, bustled out of her office, weaeing her usual look of bemused perturbation. She saw Lupin carrying Ginny's limp form and asked, with some consternation, "What have you done?"

"She touched something Voldemort enchanted that she shouldn't have," Remus said, depositing Ginny carefully on the furthest hospital bed from the door. He described to Madam Pomfrey a carefully edited version of the events in Monkton Farleigh. Pomfrey made a noise of dismay and immediately started examining Ginny.

Hermione stood back and fretted. Remus had been confident that Poppy Pomfrey could fix Ginny, but she remembered the terror and pain in Ginny's scream as she touched the Horcrux and doubted. She sighed, thinking back to that disastrous trip to the Ministry of Magic at the end of fifth year, when Harry was lured by Voldemort into the trap that resulted in Sirius's death. She'd been cursed by a Death Eater during the fight, hit with a spell that would likely have been fatal if he'd been able to cast it properly, and although Madam Pomfrey had cured her in a week, it had been several weeks before she was fully recovered. And that had been only a Death Eater, not a curse from Voldemort himself. Hermione recalled the agony she had suffered in the moment when the curse hit her and frowned, unconsciously worrying at a thumbnail.

The conversation she and Ginny had had after the Order meeting was tearing at her, too. She hadn't wanted Ginny to come, but she'd let her anyway. And one day into their trip, Ginny was gravely injured. A part of her was thinking, _She shouldn't have come. I should have fought her harder. If she hadn't come, she wouldn't be in trouble now._ But at the time she had been tired and upset and not up to arguing with Ginny, who was ferocious when she set her mind on something.

Madam Pomfrey examined Ginny for several minutes, shaking her head a few times. Finally, just when Hermione was beginning to fear the worst, she straightened. "I can help her," Pomfrey said.

"Can you heal her?" Remus asked.

Poppy was silent for a moment, then she repeated, "I can help her."

No guarantees then. Hermione asked, "What did he do to her?"

Madam Pomfrey's face went grim for a moment. "More than I can explain. It'll be a few days before she makes any progress. Come back then."

That seemed to be enough for Remus, who nodded and turned away from Ginny's bed. "Come on, Hermione," he said. "Let's go back to the others. Poppy, please tell us if anything changes. And please keep her out of sight."

"I certainly will," Madam Pomfrey said, pulling the sheets up over Ginny and heading for the storeroom where she kept most of her medicines. "Do be careful, the two of you. Between Miss Weasley and the current group of ruffians around here, I'll have my hands full."

"We will," Remus said, and he indicated to Hermione that they should go.

* * *

They reappeared outside Cresswell's home and entered to find things much the same as they had been when they left. Cresswell was still in his corner, although he was much further through his book now. Wesley was buried in a book he had apparently borrowed from Cresswell; as Hermione stepped closer to him she could see that it was _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_ by Eldred Worple. Spike seemed to have disappeared, but she heard a spoon clinking on china from the kitchen. 

The wireless beside the entrance to the kitchen had been turned on, and an announcer was saying excitedly, "And it's Loyer for Caerphilly, Loyer with the Quaffle – Loyer passes to McKinney – McKinney drops it! Zimmerman catches it, Zimmerman for the Arrows with the Quaffle – Zimmerman is headed up the pitch, up the pitch – _Ohhhhhh!_ An excellent Bludger hit from Cage there – back to McKinney – Loyer – Bruno – SCORE! Bruno sneaks it past Thacker and scores for Caerphilly!"

"Who's ahead?" Remus asked, settling into the armchair in front of the window.

"The last time a score was mentioned, it was 80 to 50, Caerphilly's favor, I think they said," Wesley said, without looking up from _Blood Brothers_. "What _is_ this game, anyway?"

"It's Quidditch," Remus said. Hermione picked her way past him to take a spot on the other end of the sofa from Wesley. "Played on broomsticks –"

Cresswell looked up from his book. "Keep it down there, lad, I'm trying to listen."

"My apologies," Lupin said. Hermione looked at his silvered hair and the lines in his face and wondered when was the last time anyone had called him a lad. It wasn't that he was that old, but that the lycanthropy and stress of turning into a werewolf every twenty-eight days had aged him before his time.

Spike appeared in the doorway to the kitchen then, holding a bowl. He spooned a bite into his mouth and Hermione could see it was Weetabix. "So what new and fun things have you got planned for us now? That there in the depot was worth the price of admission. I say we go now, while Peaches is still asleep, and look for another one."

"_Spike_," Wesley said, turning a page in _Blood Brothers_.

"That reminds me," Spike continued, undaunted, "did I ever tell you why he's called Peaches? There was this one time –"

Cresswell sighed and folded his book shut, marking his place with a finger. "Lad. The game. Can't hear it over you." He fixed Spike with a fierce glare, and Spike quieted down, much to Hermione's surprise.

They were all quiet for a moment. Hermione studied the many wizarding photos hung on the walls, most likely of Cresswell's family, all waving genially at her, and pondered what, indeed, they were going to do next. While she thought, the announcer on the wireless continued breathlessly, "And that was a Dopplebeater, a Dopplebeater hit from Mewberg and Serna, and things don't look good for Caerphilly. McKinney was hit in the nob and the referee has called a halt while the mediwizards are on the pitch. Concern all around, I can see from here it looks very serious, very serious injury to McKinney of the Catapults. And – what's that – time in, they've put a plaster on her and she's back in the air! And – I say, has Giovinazzo seen the Snitch? He has! He's going for it – Bonasera in hot pursuit –"

There was a burst of static, causing Cresswell to look up in some alarm, then a different voice said, "Please stand by for an address from the Minister for Magic."

"What? That windbag?" Cresswell said. "Not now! This is Quidditch!"

The wireless was silent briefly, then Lucius Malfoy's cultured tones filled the air. "Good afternoon," he said. "I am Lucius Malfoy, your Minister for Magic. Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to tell you. Earlier this afternoon, a Ministry facility was struck by terrorists. They injured several Ministry workers and stole an important item. We are tracking them, however, and do expect to apprehend them shortly. Please be assured that we believe this group is not a threat to individual members of the populace, and remember, if you see suspicious activity, report it to your nearest Ministry representative. Thank you, and I wish you well."

The speaker went quiet, then the Wizarding Wireless announcer said, "We will now resume normal broadcasting." After a click, the room was awash in raucous crowd noise, with the Quidditch announcer shouting joyously, "– and the final score is 240 to 50, Caterpults win! That's a win for the Caterpults, bringing their record to 14 and 9, and the Arrows are certainly looking disgruntled this afternoon! What a match! I'd like to remind everyone to tune in tomorrow for our coverage of the match between the Chudley Cannons and the Wigtown Wanderers. From Ellis Moor, this has been Jock Rundy for the Wizarding Sports Network."

Cresswell swore and turned off the wireless. Remus echoed him, although likely for a different reason, and rubbed his temples quickly in a pained gesture. "Damn," he said again. "I admit I was hoping for a little more lead time."

"Well, there's one good thing," Hermione said. "He doesn't know where we are, or he would have delivered that message in person."

"Well, let's have it for small blessings," Spike said, still leaning against the doorframe. Hermione was becoming expert at ignoring him.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Wesley asked. "That they're out looking for you?"

"Not really," Lupin said, glancing at Hermione. "We don't necessarily have to travel as Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger, if there's need. There's a potion we can take."

She winced, remembering her experience with Polyjuice Potion during second year, when she'd meant to become Millicent Bulstrode and ended up as a cat. That had nearly put her off Polyjuice forever, but occasionally she'd had to take a dose when it wasn't advisable to be Hermione Granger.

"So," Spike said, chewing a mouthful of Weetabix, "what _are_ we up to now?"

Hermione glanced at Remus in time to see him glancing at her with a _well-this-is-your-mission_ sort of look. She eyed the eagle brooch still sitting in pride of place on Cresswell's coffee table and said, "I suppose we have to figure out how to destroy this Horcrux, but I just don't see how. Nothing I ever came across mentioned how to destroy them, and I searched most of the magical libraries in England."

Wesley frowned into his copy of _Blood Brothers_. "I admit the research I did in the Wolfram and Hart library was geared more towards finding Horcruxes than destroying them. Perhaps there may be something else there. If you could take me to London –"

"I'm sure we'd be able to arrange that," Lupin said. "It probably won't be today, though."

"That's all right," Wesley said, although he continued to frown.

"As for what we're going to do, Spike," Hermione said, her frustration at how things were going finally boiling over, "we're just going to wait and could you _please_ go back in the kitchen to eat that?"

Spike looked at her with just a hint of admiration and then shrugged. "What the lady wants, the lady gets, then," he said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

There was a careful silence after that. Hermione couldn't see Cresswell's face clearly from where she was sitting, but Wesley seemed to be keeping his face carefully still as he stared intently into _Blood Brothers_. Remus leaned forward and picked up the _Daily Prophet_ off the coffee table, saying nothing.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione sat and stewed, mostly angry at herself for the outburst. She'd been prone to bursts of temper as a teenager, but had grown out of that quickly once she left Hogwarts. But Ginny was hurt, and they didn't know what to do with the Horcrux, and there was still the matter of the Ministry coming after them . . .

After a moment, Remus gently cleared his throat from behind the _Prophet_. Hermione looked over at him, absently reading the day's headline upside down ("_Man's Crup Saves Him From Attacking Muggle 'Salesman'_", and in smaller print, "_Muggle Says This Was All A Tragic Mistake_"). The paper rustled slightly, and then Remus said, casual yet gentle, "You sounded a little shaken up there. Are you all right?"

She sighed and uncrossed her arms, working to calm herself down. "I suppose," she said. "I just . . ." She trailed off, unsure exactly what she meant to say.

"Mmm," Lupin said, not unkindly. The pages rustled again, and he looked over the _Prophet_ just long enough to give Hermione a sympathetic look.

"Oh, never mind this," Hermione said, pushing off from Cresswell's sofa. "I'm going for a walk."

"Be careful, Hermione," Remus said.

"Of course."

"Ask Spike if he wants to go with you," Wesley said, somewhat acerbic.

"I heard that!" Spike said from the kitchen. Hermione rolled her eyes and left.

* * *

Hermione ended up walking into central Bath and wandering around the tangle of streets that were becoming a touristy shopping district. She ducked in and out of a few shops, not really buying anything, and then settled on a bench in a small park by the river and let the weather cool her off. She'd charmed herself to be unremarkable as a precaution against Death Eaters or Ministry goons (though they were really the same, nowadays) and it was in a way reassuring to watch people look right past her. She sat for a while, watching the water gush over the weir at the base of Pulteney Bridge, and then, when the temperature started to get to her, she walked back to Cresswell's. 

She found things much the same as they had been when she left. Cresswell was gone, as was Spike. Instead, Illyria was standing near Cresswell's chair, staring perplexedly at his shelves of books. Remus appeared to be done with the _Prophet_ and was working his way through _He Flew Like A Madman_. Wesley had moved on to, in a strange coincidence, _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. Hermione took a moment to wonder at the contents of Cresswell's bookshelves. She glanced at Remus, who appeared to be steadfastly ignoring Wesley's choice of literature.

He looked up as she walked past him to sit on the sofa. "All right, Hermione?" he asked.

"All right," she said, and she did feel better.

Remus nodded and went back to his biography. She leaned forward and snagged the _Prophet_ off the coffee table; it was a worthless rag but it would pass the time.

She was midway through an article on page three ("_Minister of Magic attends dedication of new hospital wing_") when she heard a scratching at the window. "Is that . . .?" she asked, looking up from the _Prophet_, but Remus was already on his feet. He managed to pull open the window, and a tiny owl zoomed in, beginning to do wild loop-de-loops. Hermione recognized it as Ron's old owl, Pigwidgeon, with a pang. Pigwidgeon had wanted to go with her after Ron was killed, but she had been unable to stand having the excitable little owl around. Arthur Weasley had taken him in, instead. Which meant . . .

Remus caught Pigwidgeon in one hand and started working the letter free with the other. He let Pigwidgeon free once he had the note, and Pig did ecstatic circles around his head as he read.

Frowning, Lupin handed the note to Hermione. "Arthur wants to meet us at Hogwarts. I think," he added. "I can't always keep our codes straight."

Hermione skimmed the letter herself. _Dear Aunt Matilda_ – that was the code for her and Remus – _glad to hear you are well, met up with an old school friend last week, went to tea with the missus on the seventh_ – yes, it was all there. She could guess what Mr. Weasley wanted to meet with them about. "At seven," she said. "Not long from now, is it?"

"No, we should get ready to leave," Lupin said. "We can take Pigwidgeon back when we go."

Pigwidgeon, who had settled on Hermione's shoulder, twittered happily at the mention of his name and pulled at a lock of her hair. "Pig, stop that," she said automatically, reaching up to grab him, and then she had to hold still for a moment at the painful familiarity of it. Even though it had been five years since Ron's murder, there were still some wounds that hadn't healed.

"Are you ready?" Remus asked. She looked at him, and he frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Just remembering," she said. "I'm all right. Let's go."

* * *

They Apparated up to Hogwarts a few minutes later. Lupin handled calling Hagrid, as Hermione had her hands full dealing with a twittery Pigwidgeon. Hagrid didn't appear surprised to see them, saying, "Ah, yer here. Minerva wants to see yeh in her office." 

So Arthur Weasley was here already. _He must have come straight from the Ministry_, Hermione thought, and wondered what was so urgent.

Hagrid left them alone for the walk up to the castle in the rapidly darkening twilight. The breeze made Hermione shudder slightly. Spring wasn't here yet, but it was certainly on its way.

They worked their way through the castle to the office Hermione still thought of as "Dumbledore's office" sometimes, although it had been Minerva McGonagall's for almost seven years. After winding their way up the moving spiral staircase, Lupin knocked for them and Hermione heard McGonagall's crisp voice say, "Enter."

McGonagall was seated behind the massive headmaster's desk, wearing the tartan robes she favored when not actually working and a frown. Arthur Weasley stood before the fire, looking more disheveled than usual and upset.

"Ah," McGonagall said. "Good evening, Remus, Hermione. I'll just be outside –" With a swish of plaid, she was out the office door, no doubt standing guard to prevent eavesdroppers. Once the three of them were alone, Arthur Weasley's agitation seemed to burst out of him.

"Oh, good, you're here," he said, absently trying to straighten his rumpled robes. "I had to talk to you but I wasn't sure I'd gotten the codes right, I have to tell you –"

"What is it, Arthur?" Remus asked.

"They know it was you," Mr. Weasley said, frowning more deeply. "Malfoy, V-Vol – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, the whole lot. I don't think they've tracked you down yet, but they're working on it. You can't go back to London. They've got people watching your flats – both of yours," he added, nodding to Hermione. "They'll take you into custody the moment you set foot within a block of your flat."

Hermione looked at Lupin, who was frowning to match Arthur Weasley. "I'd expected that," he said, "after the announcement. Both of us, you say? Are they watching Ginny, too?"

"I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, rather unhappily. "The boy apparently recognized her from Quidditch and gave her name. I'd be in disgrace now if I weren't already in disgrace. You made it easy for them by giving the boy your name, and as for you, Hermione – well, he didn't know who you were, but Voldemort knows you and Remus are – associated, I think is the word that was used."

Hermione tried hard not to blush. She'd participated in several Order missions as a sort of second-in-command before she'd broken off to research Muggle Watchers, so the information itself wasn't surprising. It was the word choice that made her uncomfortable, given Lucius Malfoy's penchant for knowing things he shouldn't.

Remus appeared not to notice, asking Arthur Weasley, "Are they looking for the rest of the team?"

"The Muggles? I'm not sure. The boy apparently spent some time talking about a man with a funny face, but he didn't seem to have much more detail than that."

"How close are they to tracking us down, do you think?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Arthur said, looking apologetic. "He's got the Death Eaters after you, not the Aurors, although they're all rather the same thing, now, aren't they? They try to watch what they say around me." He smiled, rather shakily. "Muggle-loving fool, and all that. Word still gets around."

"Yes, well," Remus said. "Thank you, Arthur. I do appreciate the warning. We'll stay underground as much as possible. Be careful, yourself."

"Oh, I will be," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly would kill me if anything happened to me. And there's the baby." He brightened. "Any day now, Molly reckons. Our first grandchild!" He paused, fidgeted in place for a moment, then said, "I should be getting back to the Burrow. Come by for a visit."

"Arthur," Remus said.

Mr. Weasley looked at him, frowning slightly.

"It'll be all right."

With another unsteady smile, Arthur Weasley said, "I suppose it will."

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said.

He smiled at her, a real one. "Good evening, Hermione." With a last pat of his wrinkled robes, he headed for the door. "Oh!" he said as he opened it. "Minerva. Well, come in, it's your office, after all. I'll just be on my way . . ."

As the door closed behind Minerva McGonagall, Hermione could see Mr. Weasley starting to spiral out of sight down the moving staircase. McGonagall took her seat behind her desk again and surveyed the pair of them with a dour expression. Hermione had rarely gotten in trouble at Hogwarts, but she still felt some apprehension at the look on McGonagall's face.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you two to be careful, would it," she said, after a moment.

Remus smiled, and Hermione saw, just for a moment, a schoolboy getting called up in front of his Head of House for the antics of his friends. "We're always careful, Professor."

McGonagall snorted. "Go well, you two."

* * *

After a quick side trip down to the closet-sized room in the dungeons that the Order used as a secret potion storehouse, Hermione and Remus returned to Cresswell's house. The lamps had been lit, casting a warm glow over the empty living room. Hermione followed the clink of utensils on plates and the sound of conversation and found Cresswell, Wesley, Angel, and Spike sitting around Cresswell's small kitchen table. Cresswell, Spike, and Wesley had plates of something Hermione's nose identified as shepherd's pie, while Angel had another mug in front of him. 

"Aah!" Cresswell said, spotting Hermione as she came through the kitchen door. "Wasn't sure when you'd be back, so I went ahead and did up a bit of dinner. Help yourselves, if you're hungry." He waved a hand, causing pots on the stove to rattle.

"Thank you," Hermione said. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that the last time she had anything to eat was at breakfast, and all she'd eaten was a piece of toast at that. She fixed plates for herself and Remus and took Angel's place at the table, which he insisted on giving to her. He did look more at home, leaning broodily against the wall, although the brightly-flowered coffee mug in one hand somewhat ruined the effect.

Wesley, Spike, and Cresswell continued their conversation as she ate. Wesley and Cresswell seemed to be trying to explain football and Quidditch to each other, while Spike happily maligned the parentage of Manchester City and Chelsea supporters. She kept quiet, never a fan of sports, not even when Harry, Ron, and Ginny were playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. Remus leaned against Cresswell's kitchen cabinets, working his way through the plate of shepherd's pie, and was also silent.

After dinner, without anything else to do, Hermione returned to Cresswell's parlor, picked up the _Daily Prophet_, and started working through the crossword. Wesley excused himself and headed upstairs, while Angel and Spike, separately, decided to go patrol. Illyria, as seemed to be its preference, simply vanished. Remus murmured something about wanting to finish _He Flew Like A Madman_ and resumed his position in the rocking chair, although Hermione noticed he didn't seem to be turning pages very fast.

Some time later, Hermione was staring perplexedly at Sixteen-Across, when there was a pounding on the door. "I'll get it," Remus said, forestalling her. Somewhat agitated, he rose and opened the door.

Through the opened door, Hermione could just see a dark-haired young woman, about her age, who said urgently, "I'm sorry to come like this, but I had to tell you –"

"It's all right," Remus said. He turned back to Hermione. "We'll just be a moment," he told her before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

Hermione put the _Prophet_ aside, stuck on that puzzle clue anyway, and frowned at the closed door. It seemed as if Remus had been expecting this all night, but who was the girl? She hadn't seen her before, and Hermione had been in the Order for a long time. It wasn't unexpected that Remus would have contacts she knew nothing about; indeed, he might even have inherited some of Dumbledore's extensive web of contacts. But although she knew it wasn't really any of her business who this girl was, it still bothered her.

Through the front window, Hermione could see Remus and the girl talking, the girl agitatedly motioning with her hands. The conversation ran for a few minutes, then Lupin put a hand on the girl's shoulder. She frowned and he dropped the hand, turning and running back toward Cresswell's house.

Hermione was already on her feet by the time Remus burst through the door. "Start packing," he said. "We've got to go. They know we're here and they're coming in a few hours."

"What about Angel and Spike?"

"I'll find them. Get Wesley to help you pack. And Cresswell –" Remus frowned. "Find something to do with Dirk. We can't just leave him here for the Death Eaters to find. They'll kill him."

Hermione was bursting with questions – _where will we go, what do you mean find something to do with Mr. Cresswell_, and above all, _who was that girl?_ – but instead she said, "All right."

Remus nodded and said, "We'll talk later," before turning and heading out the door.

Hermione ran upstairs and pounded on the door of Wesley and Remus's room. "Wesley!" she called. "Get up, get your things together! We've got to go!"

She heard movement inside the room, and then Wesley, fully dressed and with a book in one hand, yanked open the door. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Death Eaters. Coming for us. Can you get Remus's things together too?"

"Of course. Have you seen Illyria recently?"

"Not since before dinner."

Wesley wrinkled his eyebrows. "Something to worry about later. I'll get started on that."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and hurried down the hall to the room where she and Ginny had been staying. Her things were mostly in her battered old valise, but Ginny's were scattered across their small room. Hermione took the time to store her dressing gown and slippers in her valise, then laid open Ginny's suitcase and, chancing greatly, waved her wand and said firmly, "_Pack!_" This was a spell that despite Mrs. Weasley's best efforts, Hermione had never quite mastered; she suspected it was because she had spent too many years packing up the Muggle way.

To her surprise, Ginny's many scattered belongings soared across the room from all directions and landed in the suitcase: perhaps not neatly, Hermione admitted, but they were there. She retrieved their toothbrushes from the upstairs loo, nearly ran into Wesley, who was doing the same, and then wrestled their bags downstairs, to be ready for Remus when he returned. That settled, she went to look for Cresswell.

She found him, sitting at a desk in his room and writing industriously in a diary. "Mr. Cresswell," she said, from the doorway.

"Aah?" he said, turning. "Miss Granger?"

"We've been discovered," she said, stepping further into his room. "There are Death Eaters on their way to your house, now. They'll be here in a few hours. We're leaving. We can put you in a safe house, or you can come with us –"

Cresswell looked surprised, but he said, calmly enough, "Ar. I'm not fool enough to stay here for a horde of Death Eaters. Safe house is fine. I'll pack a bag."

She nodded and went out to the parlor to wait for Lupin to return. Wesley was there, sitting in the rocking chair Lupin favored and looking as if he were trying to mask his concern. His bags and Lupin's were waiting neatly by the door. Cresswell's old grandfather clock ticked loudly. Hermione, unable to stand the tension in the room, went over to Cresswell's overstuffed bookcase and looked for something, _anything_ to read. She grabbed a book at random and was somewhat put out to discover that it was another book about Quidditch. She decided to read it anyway.

Hermione settled on the sofa and started resolutely ploughing through the book. At some point during Chapter One, Cresswell came in, carrying a small travel bag, and took his usual seat by the wireless. She was midway through Chapter Two when the door banged open.

She looked up to see Remus barreling through the door, body language tense. "You're all ready to go?" he said. "Good. Let's go. It's a long drive."

Wesley nodded and started hauling the luggage outside. Cresswell stood and hoisted his bag. "All ready," he said.

"Wait, Mr. Cresswell," Hermione said, standing up and holding out a warning hand to him. She fumbled for her wand with her other hand.

"Aah?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry," she said. Then, acting before he could get his guard up, she brought her wand up, mentally focused on the faces of their group, and cried, "_Obliviate!_" A jet of light shot out of her wand, hitting Cresswell in the chest. He staggered, woozy, and she followed it with, "_Stupefy!_"

Cresswell hit the floor as if he'd been dropped. It wasn't a soft landing, and Hermione regretted it.

Remus nodded. "What he doesn't remember, he can't tell the Death Eaters."

"We should leave him at one of the safe rooms. Voldemort can break Memory Charms."

"Leeds, maybe. It's on the way. He'll be a little confused when he wakes up, but he won't be here for the Death Eaters." Remus nodded again. "Are we ready to go, then? Angel and Spike are waiting in the car."

"There's just one thing." Hermione ran to Cresswell's room, and after a quick riffle of his desk drawers, she had his diary. "He keeps a journal," she said to explain, as she returned to the front room. "I saw him making an entry earlier."

"No, we can't leave that. Good thinking, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, flipping through the book to find the latest entry. She scanned them, looking for keywords. Cresswell appeared to have been circumspect, never mentioning any of them by name, but there were several references to "the visitors."

Hermione pointed her wand at the last entry. "_Evanesco!_" she said. The ink faded off the page. That seemed to be the only entry in which they were mentioned. With some luck, Cresswell would only think he'd missed a day journaling.

Wesley appeared in the doorway behind Remus. "Shall we go?" he asked.

"I've just got to put this back," Hermione said. She returned the journal to its drawer, careful to put it back facing the same way as it was before, and went back to the front room. "Let's go."

* * *

It _was_ a long drive. Before they left Bath, they stopped at a cashpoint so Hermione could withdraw some money, and then Remus turned the car north. Hermione had the front passenger seat again, and Wesley, Angel, Spike, and Cresswell were all pressed into the backseat. Cresswell was carefully and artfully propped against the window, so that he appeared to be sleeping instead of unconscious. 

Compared to the drive from London to Bath, this drive was agonizingly silent. Sensing the tension, Angel and Spike refrained from arguing, and the few attempts people made to make conversation died quickly. Around Birmingham, unable to stand the quiet, Hermione reached forward and flicked on the radio. Considering the age of the car, it worked surprisingly well, and although it hadn't been charmed to pick up the Wizarding Wireless, it picked up Muggle radio stations just fine. She twiddled the dial until she found Radio 3, figuring it was least likely to bother the group.

They rounded Birmingham and continued north, driving into the night. Hermione occasionally adjusted the dial to keep the station coming in clear. She looked over her shoulder once and saw that while Angel and Spike sat alert, Angel looking grim, Wesley had dropped off to sleep.

Shortly after one in the morning, Remus pulled to a stop and parked the car outside the tiny rowhome the Order maintained as a safe house in Leeds. The house, in a nondescript side street on the outskirts of the city, was unremarkable on its own, quite aside from the assortment of charms the Order had placed on it. In the light from the streetlamp, Hermione could just see the battered and fading FOR LET sign they'd placed in the postage stamp-sized front garden as a cover for its being empty most of the time. The number was fake, but it didn't matter; the place had just enough of a Muggle-Repelling Spell on it that nobody wanted to let it anyway.

Angel helped them wrestle Cresswell's limp and heavy body out of the car, throwing Cresswell over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. They decided, as a group, to settle Cresswell on the sofa. Hermione wrote a quick note explaining that he was in Leeds and that he was to stay away from his house for at least a day and left it beside him for when he woke up.

Cresswell delivered, they returned to the car and headed north again. The car was less crowded, but still quiet. Hermione stared out the window and tried not to feel that dumping Cresswell in Leeds, memory wiped, was a betrayal.

After a few hours of traveling north, through Yorkshire and into northeast England, they hit the outskirts of the cities ringing Newcastle. Remus navigated around the city, traveling on ever-smaller roads, until finally they hit the small farm that served as an Order safe house. The house and accompanying acreage had been the home of an Order member, murdered by Death Eaters, who left the farm to the Order in her will. It was nearly as secure as Grimmauld Place, and often used by Order members who were in the area as a meeting place. And sometimes, as now, it served as a hiding place.

Hermione yawned as she helped carry bags in from the car. Wesley had been able to sleep, but she had been kept awake by tension and stress. It was hard to believe that only twelve hours ago, they had been underground in Monkton Farleigh, searching for the Horcrux (which she had pocketed before leaving Cresswell's; it wouldn't do to leave it there for the Death Eaters to reclaim it and hide it somewhere else.) She had that peculiar unsettled feeling that came after a long car ride.

The house had that musty smell that came with being shut up for a while. Hermione cracked the window in the upstairs room she'd claimed, and then fell onto the twin bed without even changing into pajamas.

* * *

Hermione slept hard and late, not waking up until close to eleven. After changing into clean clothes and washing her face, she went downstairs to find Wesley sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. Remus stood at the stove, putting the finishing touches on what smelled like eggs. Her stomach rumbled. Remus was a rather competent cook; he said he'd had to learn to feed himself or starve after he left Hogwarts. 

"Good morning, Hermione," Wesley said pleasantly. Remus echoed him without turning away from the stove.

"Morning," she said, reaching for the carafe in the middle of the table. She'd been able to smell the coffee even upstairs. Looking around the coffee, she spotted a row of mugs sitting beside the kitchen sink, freshly washed. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she said, "_Accio_ mug!"

The mug soared across the kitchen to her, landing in her hand with a firm _thwap_. Hermione filled the mug with coffee and started downing it, black, as quickly as she could. "Scrambled eggs?" she asked Remus, who was poking at the pan with his wand.

"It was supposed to be an omelette," he said, tipping it onto a plate. "I guess the pan wasn't quite right. It should still be all right. Here you go," he added, setting the plate in front of Hermione.

"Thank you." A second later, she realized that she hadn't any silverware. Accio _fork!_ she thought, with another wave of her wand, and a drawer opened to let a fork zoom out to her waiting hand.

"Bon appetit," Lupin said, pouring some water from the kettle on the stove into a mug and sitting across from her.

For a few minutes, the kitchen was silent as Hermione attacked her eggs with a ferocity that would have done Ron proud. The nerve-wracking drive up from Bath had spent her energy and left her needing a recharge. _And in a dingy house in Leeds, Cresswell is waking up, or has already woken_, she thought, _and this is our thanks to him_ . . .

When she had eaten enough to be able to slow down and hold a conversation, Lupin said, "There's still the matter of getting Wesley to London."

"Mm, yes," Wesley said. "I would still like to see what I can find in the library. And it would be one less person for you to shepherd around."

"Do you want to take him?" Hermione asked.

"It'll have to be you. I've never been to Wolfram & Hart."

"All right. I'll need a few minutes to prepare."

Wesley raised an eyebrow, fractionally. "Take as long as you like," he assured her. "I'm in no hurry."

"No, it's all right. We really should get this done." _Before the Death Eaters cotton on to where we've gone_. They were safe now, but Hermione knew Voldemort would be furious at their escape. It wouldn't be long before he tracked them to Newcastle, and they'd have to run again.

Hermione forked up the last bits of egg from her plate and stood up. "That was very good. Thank you. I'll go get ready now, shall I?"

* * *

After breakfast, Remus rooted through his luggage until he found the bottle of potion they'd retrieved from Hogwarts, and the small packet that went with it. Hermione accepted them both, took a cup from the kitchen, and went to the upstairs loo to prepare. 

She was well acquainted with the effects of Polyjuice Potion by now, but taking it never got any more pleasant. Hermione poured herself a half cup of the potion, dropped the hair in, and unhappily watched it fizz and change color to a rotten-looking bluish-purple. Steeling herself, she picked up the cup and downed the whole lot as quickly as possible.

At first, as always, nothing happened – then everything happened very quickly at once. Hermione gasped sharply as the pain hit her, her body rippling and melting into the shape of another woman, one several inches taller than she. It had been a few years since she'd taken a dose, and she had forgotten how badly it hurt. She hung on, trying to breathe deeply, and resisted the urge to curl up in a ball and whimper.

A few minutes later, it was all over. Hermione looked in the mirror and adjusted to the queasy feeling it always gave her to see a stranger looking back. The woman blinking back at Hermione from the mirror had dark brown hair, cropped short, dark brown eyes, and a nose just a shade too big for her to be considered conventionally attractive. She frowned, watching the features change.

"Hello, Hermione," she said as a test, and was surprised by the flatness of it. _An American, then._

The problem of disguise had first come up seriously shortly after the war started in earnest, not long after Lupin had taken over. The Order was hemorrhaging members as Death Eaters picked them off by sight. The Aurors tried to train the other members in some of the concealment techniques they knew, but the Death Eaters were finding ways to counteract those. Tonks, the Metamorphmagus, was the only one of them that was truly safe, because she never went on a mission with the same face twice.

"What we need," Hermione had said at the time, "is a way for us to disguise ourselves with faces that the Death Eaters won't recognize – and no one else will either."

The Order members assembled then had been silent for several moments. Then Kingsley Shacklebolt had said, with his usual calm deliberation, "Then we need to ask people they don't know if they can borrow their faces."

"And where are we going to find a group of people the Death Eaters are guaranteed not to know, Mr. Shacklebolt?" Minerva McGonagall had asked.

Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled. "America."

The Order had put out the word through the network of international contacts they had built, and soon hair and nail samples were arriving from around the world – it seemed that while people were unwilling to aid the fight against Voldemort directly, they were willing to contribute by letting Order members borrow their likenesses, if it was for a good cause. The system wasn't foolproof – Polyjuice Potion required hourly dosages, or the taker resumed their natural appearance – but it helped in cases where they needed a disguise for the short term.

Of course, even Tonks had fallen . . .

Hermione shied away from that thought and turned to examine the clothes she'd brought into the bathroom. She held a few of them up to herself, but they were all too short for the taller woman she'd become. Aware that she was burning minutes she might need in London, she quickly conjured and donned simple clothes for herself. Thinking, she also conjured a small flask and poured a dose of Polyjuice into it before slipping it into a pocket.

Dressed and mostly ready to go, she headed downstairs, feeling a bit like a teenager after a sudden growth spurt. Remus and Wesley were waiting in the living room for her, and both of them turned as she walked in. Remus, inured to shape changes after dating Tonks, merely lifted an eyebrow and smiled slightly, but Wesley blinked and narrowly averted a comic double-take.

"I suppose this is what you meant when you said you had ways of disguising yourself?" he said.

"Yes," she said, trying to get used to the sound of the voice. It was one thing coming from Angel, but it was another to hear it coming out of her mouth. She'd never been an American before.

"I say," Wesley said, and blinked a few more times. "Fascinating."

"We need to go. This doesn't last forever."

"Oh, certainly."

"Can I borrow your watch, Remus?" she asked.

"Oh, of course, Hermione." Lupin fiddled with the clasp for a moment, then slid the watch off his wrist and handed it to her. It was large and clunky, solidly Muggle, and possibly ancient. She slipped it into her other pocket.

"Ready to go, Wesley?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and braced. She took hold of his arm and focused on his office, careful to see the Thames out the window – Apparating to his Los Angeles office would splinch both of them. Then she focused her will and started the turn . . .

* * *

They popped into the London branch of Wolfram & Hart with a _crack_, startling several employees who then gave them a bored look and went about their business again. Wesley visibly relaxed and said, "Thank you, Hermione." 

"You're welcome," she said. "Are you all right?"

He frowned, slightly, and rubbed his jaw, which was getting stubbly. "It takes some getting used to, Apparition."

"It does," she agreed. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't think so, no."

Hermione nodded. "Ring me if you do. I've got my mobile. It should still work up there."

"I will. Thank you. Good day, Hermione."

Wesley turned and headed into the office he was using in the London office. Hermione considered a moment and then leaned across the front desk to the receptionist. "Excuse me," she said in a low tone of voice. "Could you direct me to the ladies' toilets?"

The receptionist pointed. "Up the stairs and to the right."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and trotted up the stairs. She found the ladies' and picked a stall – no reason she couldn't be discreet about her departure. Did she have enough time to go check on Neville and Harry? Hermione checked Remus's watch. She did.

Considering, Hermione tilted her head. Well, there was no point burning Polyjuice. She pictured the courtyard outside Grimmauld Place, and started the turn.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was as filthy as it ever was, leaves littering the courtyard and garbage bags bulging out of the skip. Hermione picked her way through the litter of kids' toys in front of Number Fourteen and mused on the possibility that the general dilapidated state was some clever sort of camouflage charm. 

She knocked on the door of Number Twelve before doing some quick wandwork to undo the locking spells. With a _click_, the last lock retracted, and Hermione quickly stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called, looking around the foyer. "Neville, Harry, are you here?" She suspected they were; although the house was still dingy, the outright filth had largely been dealt with. Neville appeared to have made an effort to erase Harry's graffiti from the walls.

Hermione stepped forward, craning her neck to see down the hall (and noting reminiscently that the frame that used to hold Walburga Black's portrait was empty: they had cut her out of the frame after discovering the Permanent Sticking Charm was only on the frame.) "Is anyone here?" she called again.

She paused, hearing a rustle from upstairs. A door opened, and then Neville Longbottom was standing at the top of the stairs, wand drawn and pointed at her, formidable.

"I want to know who you are, and why you're here," he said, "and I'd like that now, if you please."

_Oh_. She'd forgotten to warn Neville she was coming under Polyjuice. "Neville, it's Hermione. I'm Polyjuiced. I can't move around in the city otherwise."

He didn't look convinced. "Prove it. Otherwise we wait until the Polyjuice wears off, if you really are Polyjuiced."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. But this was why they had trusted Harry to Neville for the duration; he was gentle, good to talk to, but he was a redoubtable security presence. She thought for a moment and then conjured a handful of bluebell flames, tossing them into the air around her. The bluebell flames generated heat but did not burn, and had been her specialty at Hogwarts.

Neville shifted position and relaxed the wand slightly, but shook his head. "Not good enough."

She extinguished the bluebell flames burning quietly around her with a quick, "_Aguamenti!_" Then, thinking, she said, "Ask me a question."

Neville's eyes drifted off to the side for a moment as he thought. Then he asked, "Who did you go to the Yule Ball with?"

Hermione snorted. "A _less obvious_ question, Neville."

He thought for a while, and then his face softened. "A long time ago, first year, you and Ron and Harry were sneaking out to get the Philosopher's Stone, and I tried to stop you, and –"

"I cast the Full Body-Bind on you," she said, smiling regretfully up at him. "And Ron told you that you'd understand later. I really _am_ sorry about that, you know."

Neville nodded, and put his wand away. "It was a long time ago." He thumped down the stairs and joined her in the foyer. "I suppose you're here to check on Harry?"

"Yes. I know it's only been a couple days, but I was hoping maybe some human contact . . ."

Shaking his head, Neville said, "Not just yet. I think those pills, whatever they are, are helping, but he's not ready yet to see anyone. I've been keeping him with me as I clean, keeping him talking. He's . . ." Neville laughed uncertainly. "He's spooky sometimes, Harry."

"Yes. He's not well."

"He seems to be getting a little more clear lately, I think."

"Oh, I hope." She hefted Remus's watch and checked the time. "I really should be going. I don't know when I can come back. You'll let me know when he's . . ."

"Himself?" Neville supplied.

"Functional," Hermione said, agreeing, and sighed. "You'll let me know?"

"Of course, Hermione."

"Thank you. Good day, Neville," she said. Hermione opened the heavy front door and slipped out, wincing at the abrupt sunshine. Before anyone could notice she was there, she focused on the house in Newcastle, and Apparated.

* * *

The house was very quiet when Hermione returned, which could be expected when there were only four people staying there and two were asleep. She found Remus sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of him and a half-eaten plate of toast beside him, poring over a sheaf of parchments. "Oh, Hermione," he said, looking up as she walked in. He frowned and turned back to the parchment. "Aberforth learned some more about that Death Eater plot he mentioned last week. Seamus did some reconaissance and just sent his report." 

She poured herself a mug of tea and sat down across from him. "What does he say?" She took a sip of the tea and nearly spat it back into the cup – it was cold. A quick tap of her wand, and the mug was gently steaming in front of her.

Lupin shoved a page across the table to her. "They're planning a purifying."

"Oh, no," Hermione said, taking the page and scanning its contents. "Where?"

"Stockbridge Main."

"I haven't heard of it."

"Neither had I, before now." He pushed a map to the middle of the table. "Down in the Midlands. It's about forty people, all Muggles. I suppose you can guess what they want to do there."

Hermione shuddered. "Please."

"Mad-Eye's planning to stage an intervention tonight, protect the village."

"Mmm . . ." Hermione said, reaching for another paper.

"We should help."

Hermione looked up then, convinced for a moment that Harry had died and his spirit had taken over Lupin. But Lupin looked much as he always did, calm, thoughtful, without that maniacal gleam that accompanied Harry's wildest plans. "We _can't_," she said, and was reminded of Wesley telling Illyria the same thing in much the same tone of voice.

Remus's face took on that professory expression he got sometimes when he intended to let someone else make his point for him. "Explain why you say that."

"We've got _visitors_," she said. "And the _Horcrux_. And we're supposed to be in _hiding_ –"

Looking thoughtful, Remus said, "That's right, Angel and Spike. We should ask them along. I think they'd like it."

"– and going along on a mission is like _asking_ the Death Eaters to come after us!" Hermione continued, keeping her voice just a shade under shrill. "Can you think of any good reasons why we should go?"

"Can you think of any that we shouldn't? We are members of the Order, Hermione, and they need our help. You're a talented witch in a fight."

"Oh, don't flatter me."

"And I wouldn't want it said of me that I stood by and did nothing while Death Eaters attacked a Muggle village and exterminated its residents. I wouldn't think you'd want that said of you either, Hermione. We have a chance to act and to defend, and I think we should take it."

"Oh . . ." Once again, Hermione was reminded of Harry as a teenager, all bravery and heroics, shouting down her nervous protestations that perhaps he had a "saving-people thing." Lupin had been a Gryffindor, too, and although he didn't share Harry's tendency towards the dramatic, he shared the courage that drew students to Gryffindor House. So, for that matter, did she; after all, she had accompanied Harry to save the Philosopher's Stone, and back in time, and to the Ministry of Magic, and other places besides. Staying in for a safe evening of tea and Exploding Snap sounded far preferable to a risky fight, but the memories of what the Order had found after the Muggle "purifying" at Courtwick kept rising in front of her eyes. Could she stand by, even to protect her mission, while _that_ happened again?

"Oh, all right," she found herself saying, "we'll go."

Remus nodded at her, an approving light in his eyes.

* * *

Angel and Spike agreed to go along readily enough, when Hermione took them down their mid-afternoon mugs of blood. Spike looked happy at the prospect of getting to "scrap a bit," while Angel went grimmer than usual when she described some of what the Order had found, doing cleanup at Courtwick. 

"It's not why we came over here," he said, "but it's the right thing to do. We can't let them wipe out an entire town. Not if it's within our means to prevent it." He paused, frowning so deeply it creased his entire forehead. "I'm tired of people dying because I didn't stop it from happening."

Hermione thought, unkindly, that Angel was possibly the only person she knew with more baggage than Harry, and then decided to keep that to herself. He was gloomy and dour, but they wouldn't have been able to subdue Montague without him, and he had agreed to help her in the first place – that was enough for him to deserve charitable thoughts from her. She did wonder what he meant, though. Before they left, she was going to have to get someone to give her a straight answer about Illyria.

Angel and Spike assured her that they didn't need anything else, and so Hermione headed upstairs to see if Remus needed any help. She found him sitting in the parlor surrounded by stacks of parchment, frowning down at the sheaf of papers he held.

"Ah, Hermione," he said, hearing her approach. "I sent out the word to everyone. I asked them to meet here; I thought it might be best."

"What time do you think we should go?"

"I asked everyone to meet here at nine. I believe if we're in the village by midnight we should be there in plenty of time. You know the Death Eaters prefer to attack in the small hours of the night."

Hermione nodded. "That sounds all right. Angel and Spike agreed to come with us. I think we should keep them away from the main fight, if we can."

Remus looked up at her. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, it's just that they're vampires, Remus, only it might not be such a good idea to have them around a bunch of people with pointy wooden sticks. Particularly when they've got that thing with the face, and people might not recognize them immediately . . . They can't exactly do magic, can they?"

"No, I don't suppose so," he said, frowning. "I can see your point. We'll have to keep that in mind. Good thinking, Hermione."

She smiled wanly.

The afternoon and early evening passed as they made and remade plans, trying to anticipate what the Death Eaters might have in mind for the residents of Stockbridge. Around eight o'clock, the first Order members started arriving, trickling into the house a few at a time. Hermione made tea a few times for everyone as a way of keeping down her nerves.

The house gradually filled. Seamus Finnegan and Mad-Eye Moody both arrived early, and pulled Remus aside to talk tactics. Molly Weasley came "for support" and started to bake bread for the group. Luna Lovegood meandered in, trailing her usual mien of absentness behind her. George Weasley and Angelina Johnson came in together, shortly followed by Terry Boot and Katherine Bundy, and Susan Bones walked in wearing a vicious expression. Zenaida Quince, who was 82 if she was a day but couldn't be kept out of a fight, stalked around in sweeping black robes. Parvati Patil, who was always good for a battle after Death Eaters killed her sister Padma, ran in at 9:15.

Angel and Spike came up from the basement at some point during the evening, although Hermione missed exactly when. She found it amazing how inconspicuous Angel was able to make himself, despite the fact that he was fairly tall and dressed all in black. He took a mug of tea and settled himself against the kitchen wall with his usual morose expression, and people seemed mostly to look past him. Spike, on the other hand, she spotted regaling a group of women with some sort of wild tale; somehow, it seemed typical.

Around ten, Lupin gathered everyone in the front room, gesturing for them to pack in so they could hear him. "Thank you," he said, "thank you, good, everyone. I'd like to thank you all for coming and helping out. And I'm sure the residents of Stockbridge Main thank you, although they don't know it. Now, Stockbridge Main is a small Muggle village in the Midlands . . ."

With a wave and a tap of his wand, Lupin enlarged the parchment map of Stockbridge Main until it was the size of a Hogwarts chalkboard, charming it to float beside him in the air. Hermione studied it as Remus spoke about the village. It really wasn't much of a place, just a high street and a few streets branching off from that, houses widely spaced and back from the road. Some of the houses, according to Lupin, were vacant, and he highlighted the one he had picked out as their operations base while in the village.

From there he moved into a discussion of tactics, outlining strategies and assigning Order members to groups stationed around the village. The village's forty-two residents lived in seventeen houses, and there were enough Order members present for a team of two per house. Lupin shrewdly assigned Hermione, Angel, and Spike to a house that was separated from the others by a few vacant houses, giving them a buffer.

After that, Lupin opened up the floor for questions, but there weren't many. They had all been fighting long enough that they understood how operations like this worked, and they all knew a useful selection of jinxes, curses, and healing spells. Hermione took a moment to look over the group, noticing first that the former members of Dumbledore's Army were well-represented, as always, and second, that the group packed into the parlor was a young one. Most of them had been within a few years of her at Hogwarts. She was proud to see that even the ones too young or too old for the D.A. had rallied to help the Order, even if it was only for occasions like these.

"Is there anything else?" Remus asked, after assuring Luna Lovegood that he didn't think the Death Eaters would bring their double-headed beebums.

Silence. A ripple shifted through the room, Order members checking to see if anyone else would put their hand up.

"All right, then. Thank you all for listening," Remus said. "We'll start leaving in –" he checked his watch – "two hours then; that should give us enough time to beat the Death Eaters to the village."

The room erupted into noise, Order members restarting the conversations that had been quelled before the briefing. Ears ringing from the din and nerves tingling from the anxiety in the room, Hermione quietly slipped out through the kitchen to the back porch. She looked to the left and jumped slightly: Angel was there, leaning against the wall in the darkness underneath the porch roof, and scowling out at the glow of Newcastle lights over the distant trees.

"Oh – Angel," she said. "Did you hear –"

"I got it," he said. "It's going to be a battle, us versus the – what are they called again? Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Stupid name," Angel said under his breath, and then continued, "You always think you can plan a battle until you get on the ground, and then it's just a fight. Whoever hits best, wins. Nothing more to it than that."

She stepped across the porch, leaning on the rail and following Angel's gaze, looking past the granny flat and play set, to Newcastle beyond and the stars. Behind her, Angel was totally silent, enough so that she could forget he was there if she wanted. Hermione thought about his constant brooding, and wondered what other demons he had besides the obvious one.

"Tell me something about yourself," she found herself saying.

She looked over her shoulder to see Angel shifting uncomfortably. "I don't like talking about myself."

"Well, it's just –" she said, and paused, turning around. "You're a vampire, but you're not like the vampires I learned about in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They're these . . . _weedy_ things, barely sentient. They don't run law firms. But you . . . you're more than that. You're complicated."

"I am."

"So tell me something about yourself. You've come all this way to help, you're getting involved in our battles, but I don't know anything about you."

Angel was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "I have a soul."

Hermione frowned at him.

"Most vampires don't," he said, clarifying. "We're dead. Evil. But I was cursed. Gypsies. I got my soul back. It gave me a . . . a conscience. Made me regret all the things I'd done before then. So I started to atone. I thought, if I just did enough good, if I just helped the right people, maybe I could make up for what I'd done . . ."

He shifted again, recrossing his arms and looking past Hermione. "But then I learned that there is no atoning. Whatever you do, whatever you've done, it's never enough. There's just the fight. You fight, and you keep fighting. So . . ." He moved slightly, in what might have been a shrug. "The law firm. And your battles."

"How did you end up as president of Wolfram & Hart?"

"I was hired."

"What did you do to –"

"I don't want to talk about it." Angel looked back to her, his face snapping shut. "I told you something about myself. That's it."

"One more thing," Hermione said. "Does Spike have a soul too?"

Angel scowled fiercely. "_Yes_. Can't do anything without him deciding he's got to also. Got a soul, he did that too. And Buffy –" He abruptly stopped. "Yes."

Quiet minutes passed while Hermione mulled over what Angel had told her. A soul. And a conscience. What were the things he had done? What could be so bad that there was no atoning for it?

_Probably things like we're going to Stockbridge Main to stop_, the back of her brain told her, and she frowned, working a thumbnail again. _No wonder he doesn't like to talk about himself_.

"Thank you," she said.

Angel looked at her.

"I can understand why you don't like talking about yourself. Thank you for telling me that much."

Angel grunted and rearranged himself against the wall again.

The kitchen door opened, and Molly Weasley leaned out. "Hermione, dear? I've knocked together some dinner, if you want to eat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, standing up straight.

"Molly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's ready when you are," she added, and the kitchen door closed behind her.

"Go on," Angel said. "I'll be all right."

Her stomach rumbled, even though she was so anxious she couldn't imagine eating, and she went back inside.

* * *

Molly Weasley had a bowl of steaming onion soup waiting for her at the kitchen table, which Hermione ate half of but barely tasted. The nerves were settling in hard; not just for her, she noticed, but for everyone, and they were all dealing with it in different ways. George and Angelina were making boisterous jokes, with Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet giggling appreciatively, while on the sofa in the front room, Hannah Abbott was having what appeared to be a full-bore panic attack. Justin Finch-Fletchley sat by her, helping her through it. In a corner of the living room, Spike was surrounded by a group of girls ranging from little Anna Montgomery to Laura-Anne Jetter, who was Hermione's mother's age, and from the motions he was making, he appeared to be telling a story about some epic fight. Out in the hall, Ernie Macmillan, as full of pomp and bombast as ever, regaled a group of former Hufflepuffs with stories about the battles he had fought in since leaving Hogwarts. Hermione headed up the stairs, passing Brian Dunstan and Sarah Capper, who were flirting madly, and found Remus sitting at a small table in the upstairs hall. It had the austere look that meant he had probably conjured it himself. 

"Remus," she said, conjuring a chair herself. This was a spell she had taught herself during the months when she, Harry, and Ron had been traveling England looking for the Horcruxes, and even now, she tended to produce three-legged stools.

"Oh – Hermione," he said, jumping much like she must have when she found Angel lurking next to her. "Is there – do you –"

"No, there's no trouble," she said, looking over the banister where raucous sound was drifting up. "It's just – loud down there. I needed . . . I guess you did too."

"Mmm," Remus said, shifting some parchments across the small table. He pulled one out and scratched a few words on it with his quill.

Hermione sat there for several minutes, listening both to Remus's abstracted and tuneless humming as he shuffled through his parchments, apparently making and remaking plans, and to the dull roar from below of thirty people distracting themselves. She thought about starting a conversation with Remus, realized she had nothing to say, and lapsed back into her own thoughts.

Eventually, even his quiet presence was too much. Rather than lapse into worried hysterics, as she had a tendency to do at Hogwarts, Hermione headed out to the front garden to pace. Conjuring a light jacket for herself, she decided she fancied a walk. She was far enough away that she couldn't see the lights of the house when she saw a silvery Patronus rushing towards her; as it approached, she could see that it was Remus's bear. It hit her, dissipating, and then Remus's voice whispered in her ear:

"_It's time_."

Focusing on the house, she pulled out her wand and Apparated.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: And so it goes. I originally intended to release this chapter later -- but then I looked at my calendar and realized that _I will be on hiatus from writing until September_, so to tide everyone over, here's a nice long chapter. 

My thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited this story or set up a story alert. You guys are the reason I keep working when I want to throw up my hands and disown this story.

Next time on _Endlong into Midnight_: Battle at Stockbridge Main.

See you in September . . .


	5. The City of Words of Blue

Chapter Five  
_The City of Words of Blue_

Hermione returned to the house to find everyone buzz­ing in a state of controlled chaos. Lupin was attempting to mar­shall peo­ple out into the back garden, and he ges­tured for her to fol­low.

Out in the back garden, she found Seamus Finnigan charming rocks and sticks into Portkeys. Preceded by the last stragglers, Lupin left the house, and started sorting people into groups for transport. "Seamus is charming these to put you down just outside the village," he told them. "Walk west and you should find yourself at the end of the high street. Go to the safe house. Do not alert the Mug­gles. Wait there until I arrive. Are you ready, Sea­mus?"

"Think I've got enough," Seamus said. He started mov­ing among the groups, handing them all stones or branches. "They're triggered Portkeys. Won't go off until I say."

Hermione was on a branch with Angel, Spike, Remus, and – she was gues­sing – Sea­mus. She held the stick out in front of her. "Grab the stick," she said to Angel and Spike. "Don't let go." They both took hold of the branch. An­gel's hand brushed against hers; it was un­nervingly cool.

Lupin nodded at Seamus, who nodded back and then touched his wand to the first group's rock. "_Porto!_" he cried, and with a loud _crack!_ they disap­peared. Seamus moved to the next group, and after about thirty seconds, Re­mus nodded again. "_Porto!_"

It took several minutes to work through all the groups. Finally, with Lu­pin, Her­mione, Angel, and Spike the last people standing in the garden, Sea­mus grabbed the branch, tapped it, and said, "_Porto!_"

Hermione suppressed a groan as the familiar sensation of traveling by Portkey over­took her, that feeling of being reeled in like a fish on a hook. The world swirled past in a dark blur, and Hermione felt slightly dizzy be­fore the Portkey finally let them go out­side Stock­bridge Main. She swayed, but stayed upright.

Spike let go of the stick as if it had burned him. "Is there _any_ method of traveling for you wizard lot that is even _remotely_ pleasant?"

"Brooms aren't fair bad," said Seamus.

"I'll stick to cars, then, thanks. Right-o. Where to now?"

"West," Lupin repeated, "to the village."

The walk into Stockbridge Main wasn't long, only about a quar­ter-mile. Remus paused at the turn to the safe house and motioned ahead. "Go on to your assigned house, you three. Don't disturb the Muggles," he reminded them. Hermione thought that this might just have been aimed at Spike, who seemed to agree: he made a "who, me?" face and Angel rolled his eyes.

They trudged on down the high street and around the corner to their house, Spike grumbling under his breath. The three of them took up posi­tions around the house, a small affair at the end of a lane that intersected with the high street, and started to wait. After a few minutes, it was easy to forget that Spike and Angel were there. Her­mione knew Angel was standing at the back corner of the house, but he disappeared into the moonless night. Periodically she heard the click of a lighter as Spike went through an­other cigarette.

Time passed. Hermione wasn't willing to light her wand to see her watch, so she wasn't sure if it was minutes or hours later when she heard a _crack!_ echo down the street. She tensed, drawing her want out of her pocket. This was it: the Death Eaters had ar­rived. "Get ready," she breathed. From the shadows, she saw the faintest movement as Angel pre­pared for a fight.

Death Eaters started filing down the street, laughing and joking among themselves. Hermione stood as still as she could, holding her breath, and tried to count the Death Eaters as they passed by. The Order was outnum­bered, she thought, but not as badly as they had been on previous missions.

"Wait for them to approach the house," Hermio­ne said under her breath. The last of the Death Eaters walked past, and, giggling, a group of four broke off and headed for the house that Hermio­ne, Angel, and Spike were guarding.

She dropped one of them with a wordless _Stupefy!_ from her hiding place before they realized she was there. The red light of the spell gave her away, and Hermione hit the ground and rolled as the other three aimed a mix of stunners and Unforgiva­bles at her position. Her bad knee protested with a throb of pain, and she bit back a curse.

As the Death Eaters advanced on her, Angel and Spike were there, leap­ing out of the shadows. Angel immediately kicked the wand out of his Death Eater's hand, while Spike aimed a series of punches at the Death Eat­er facing off with him. That left one Death Eater for her to deal with. She rolled again as he aimed the Cruciatus Curse at her. "Order mem­bers!" he shouted. "Order members!"

From the shouts arising all around the village, his cohorts were finding that out for themselves. All the lights in the house they were guarding went on, and Hermione groaned, both at her knee and the number of Memory Charms they were going to have to perform.

Hermione stayed on the ground, aiming her wand at her oppo­nent. "_Ex­pelliarmus!_" she said, remembering what Harry had taught her. Her Death Eater was unable to block in time; his wand went sail­ing into the night. She staggered to her feet and tried for two, cast­ing a quick "_Stupefy!_", but the Death Eater dodged. Snarling, he ran at her, arms out­stretched. She jogged backwards and tried a different ap­proach. "_Confun­do!_" she called, managing to perform the complicated flicking movement even while racing backwards. The spell hit the Death Eater, and he immediately dropped his arms and stopped chas­ing her, looking around in utter befuddlement. She put him out of his mis­ery with another stunner, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

She looked to her left and right. With a series of punches – right, left, right – and a spinning kick, his coat flying around him, Angel downed his Death Eater. Spike, on the other hand, seemed to be amusing himself by re­peatedly introducing the Death Eat­er's face to his knee. He looked over, no­ticed their Death Eaters were down, shrugged, and finished the man with a knee to the groin and a quick knock to the back of the head.

"That was fun," Spike said. "Next?"

Hermione pointed toward the village, where flashes of light inter­spersed with loud cries. "We help the others. Come on."

She jogged down the street toward Stockbridge Main, Angel and Spike pacing her, ready to aid the other teams. At the other end of the street, near­er the village, Laura-Anne Jetter finished off a Death Eater with a skillful Somnus Charm and called, "Got yours, Her­mione? Good job! Let's go!"

Laura-Anne and her partner, Orla Quirke, puffing slightly, joined Her­mione's team. Hermione noticed that the spells seemed to be con­centrated in the middle of the high street. The five of them ran pell-mell toward the battle and then stopped, trying to figure out what was going on. Hermio­ne's knee ached at her.

A large group of Death Eaters were dueling with Order members in the high street, curses flying every direction. Apparently, having come under fi­re, they decided it was best to fight as a group. Every now and then Hermi­one saw one of the Order members originally as­signed to the houses get off a shot from cover, but they were mostly going wide, distractions more than anything else. The fighting was tangled and messy, curses bouncing off shields and ricocheting, and Hermione and Angel had to duck as a nasty hex sizzled over their heads.

Angel looked over at Spike, who was watching the battle with a certain grim glee. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

"Probably so," said Spike. "Distract and disrupt."

"Exactly." Angel glanced at the three witches. "Cover us," he said. To Spike, he added, "Let's go."

Spike morphed into game face, provoking a gasp from Orla Quirke. He and Angel squared their shoulders, dropped their heads, and charged at the group. Hermione immed­iately started firing off any curse she could think of, mostly the minor hexes and jinxes she learned in her early years at Hog­warts. Some of the Death Eaters broke off to return fire, but by then Angel and Spike were there, car­eering through the crowd. Their goal, Hermi­one saw, firing off a Shield Charm, wasn't actually to engage the Death Eaters, but to knock them slightly off their feet, unsettle them and put them off their rhythm. Hermione kept up the fire, running through her mem­ories of jinxes learned while re­searching for the Tri­wizard Tourna­ment, and watched as Spike and Angel spun through the crowd – a sucker punch here, a shove there, all aimed at keeping the Death Eat­ers unsteady.

_This just might work_, Hermione thought, advancing so that she could tar­get individual Death Eat­ers. It certainly seemed to be having an effect; with the Death Eaters in various states of recovery, the Or­der's accuracy was in­creasing. Hermione kept up the pace, Laura-Anne and Orla on ei­ther side of her – until one of the Death Eaters called, "Re­group, you id­iots! Re­group!"

The Death Eaters, as one, vanished. Hermione had just enough time to look around, wondering where they were – then, with a _boom_ like a cannon going off, the Death Eaters reappeared from both ends of the street, firing curses before them. A purplish curse rippled over Hermione's head. Grabbing Orla's arm, she dove for cover.

"All right, Hermione?" a voice said. She blinked, chasing away retinal ghosts, and recog­nized the speaker as Anton Brownet, a wizard about her father's age. He had himself wedged in behind a front stoop, wand out, and was smiling placidly at her. She had very nearly rolled into him. "Bit of a mess, this," he continued.

"I'd say – _Protego!_" Hermione said, shielding against an ochre-col­ored curse that, if she was remembering right, would have disem­bow­eled her.

Cackling triumphantly, the Death Eaters flood­ed into the street where they had been fighting only moments before, Stunning the few members of the Order who hadn't man­aged to find cover in time. Luna Lovegood shrieked as she took a curse in the back and fell. Hermione tried to look over the brick half-wall she was sheltering be­hind and near­ly got her head shot off for the trouble. A Reductor Curse smashed into the house behind them, sending bricks crumbling down upon them. Brownet hastily curled up his legs to avoid getting hit.

"Dammit," Hermione whispered, surreptitiously trying to lean around the half-wall so she could tell what was going on. This was not going well. She was pinned down, separated from her team, and out of ideas about what to do next – for the moment anyway. Out in the street, the Death Eaters cackled to each other, firing off spells at the Order members who weren't completely con­cealed. She crouched, back against the half-wall, and thought.

"Come out, come out, come out wherever you are!" a woman's voice called. Hermione froze, shivers of anger and fear running up her spine. "Order members! I know you're here!" the woman continued.

_I should have known_, Hermione thought. Of course Bellatrix Lestrange would want in on a mission like this. Hermione was never sure how much of Lestrange's insanity was real and how much was feigned, but it made her a frighteningly effective Death Eater.

"Oh," Lestrange said, poutily. "No Order members want to play? I sup­pose I'll have to find someone to play with on my own, then."

_Muggles_. There was only one thing for it. "Do either of you know how to perform a Mirror Shield Charm?" Hermione whispered.

"No," said Brownet, at the same time as Quirke said, "What?"

Hermione grimaced. She didn't have time to teach them. The mirror shield was hard to per­form, but if pulled off it covered the caster in a mirrored shield that reflected all curses thrown – including spells from the inside, which was why it didn't see much use. It also lasted longer than the standard Shield Charm, protecting the caster for two minutes or so.

"Granger!" Lestrange called in a sing-song voice. "I know you're out there. Quit pretending you can stop us, and show yourself. Come on, let Bella see the goody-two-shoes you've become."

"Now or never," Hermione mut­tered, and pointed her wand at herself. "_Protego Specularis!_" The shield snapped into place, forming a silvery bubble around her, and Hermione pushed away from the wall. The timer was on. She'd have to hope that some­one could follow her lead.

"Lestrange!" she shouted, shooting to her feet and hoping no one heard how her knee cracked. Three Death Eaters turned to face her. Six more shot curses at her and she stood still, reflecting them back at their owners, who howled as the curses hit them. Quirke trem­bled in her shelter.

Hermione stepped out from behind the half-wall, towards the Death Eater that she knew was Bellatrix Lestrange, even though she was masked and hood­ed. She kept her wand raised, although she wasn't really sure what she was go­ing to do with it.

"Oh," cooed Lestrange. "Does the little Mudblood want to play? Well, then. Let's play." She advanced on Hermione, who walked out into the street to meet her. Hermione kept her silence, knowing it would aggravate Bellatrix. And all the while, a timer was ticking in her head . . .

"It's been a while since I've seen the Mudblood Granger," Lestrange said, circling Hermione. The other Death Eaters, chuckling, backed away. They were all holding their fire, apparently not terribly keen on taking a curse. Her­mione held her ground, hoping none of them chose this moment to get smart. Voldemort chose his Death Eaters not for cleverness, but for brutality.

"A long time since I've seen ickle Potter, too," continued Lestrange. "Too long. My Master wants to know where he is."

Hermione said nothing, and she didn't turn her head to follow when Bel­latrix Lestrange walked around behind her. Out of the corners of her eyes, she thought she could see Order members taking advantage of her distraction and moving to regroup. She hoped they had something planned; by her count, she had less than a minute left on her mirror shield.

"Cat stolen your tongue, Mudblood?" Bellatrix hissed. "No point in being brave. My Master _knows_ you know. The Dark Lord has ways of making you tell."

Hermione struggled to mask off her anxiety, turn it into a look of bore­dom. She controlled her trembling as Lestrange completed the circle, coming around her right side. She was alone in the middle of a group of Death Eaters with no backup plan and no way to communicate with her fellow Order mem­bers.

As if sensing her worry, Lestrange said, "Where are your friends, Granger? Have they given up and abandoned you? I know they're here. The traitor were­wolf, Lupin. Are you scared, Lupin?" she cried. "Hiding? Sacrificing the filthy Mudblood to save yourself? It's no more than she's worth, really."

Hermione bristled, despite her best efforts to ignore Lestrange.

"Well, Mudblood?" Lestrange said, coming to stand in front of Hermione. "Got anything to say for yourself? If you tell, maybe my Master will go easy on you." She cackled.

Hermione opened her mouth to give Lestrange her best schoolgirl telling-off –

– and her mirror shield disappeared from around her with a _pop!_ more felt than heard.

Bellatrix Lestrange had not gotten where she was in the Death Eaters with­out knowing how to act on opportunities. Before Hermione's muscles could react, Bellatrix had already trained her wand on her and was crying, "_Crucio!_"

Hermione tried to brace and then totally lost it as the pain moved over her, consuming and engulfing her. The pain was worse than she remembered, slicing stabbing smashing shooting burning blistering crashing crushing – Her­mione ran out of words to describe the pain before she ran out of pain. She was dimly aware of a tumult on the street, voices yelling, but everything seemed to be reaching her through a red fog. Every nerve in her body was shrieking. So was she, she realized. Hermione felt herself start to lose con­sciousness –

– and then it all went away. Hermione discovered she was lying in a ball in the street. She turned her head slightly, woozy, and realized her face was resting in a pile of her own sick. She gagged and then groaned.

"Hermione!" Angel bent down into her field of vision, looking concerned. "You all right?"

She spat, the acidic saliva sliding down her face. "Do I look all right?" she snapped, coughed, and winced. The Cruciatus Curse had left her with a grat­ing, bone-deep ache that she knew from experience wouldn't leave her for hours or days.

"Come on," Angel said. "You've gotta get out of here. Here –" He reached out a hand. Hermione took it, trying to lever herself to her feet, but she could­n't stay standing. Before she could ask for help, Angel swept her up, jogging away from where Bellatrix Lestrange lay sprawled.

"What'd you do to her?" Hermione asked, voice hoarse. She put a hand to her throat.

"Hit her," Angel said shortly. He carried Hermione back away from the battle, around behind a house on the high street. Hermione noticed faces in the first floor windows and wondered how long they had before the Muggle policemen would show.

Remus was waiting behind the house, kneeling beside Parvati Patil, who had a nasty spell burn running down one arm. "Oh, Angel," he said, looking up and rising from a crouch. "Let's lay her down –" Together, he and Angel settled Hermione on the ground between Parvati and Luna Lovegood, who was unconscious. Angel nodded grimly and walked off, probably to rejoin the fight.

Hermione leaned against the building, putting a hand to her head, which throbbed. Lupin knelt next to her, fishing in his pocket for some chocolate. "Eat this," he said, handing it to her. Ritchie Coote came barrelling around the corner of the house, looking urgent, and Lupin stood, going to him. Hermione held the chocolate in both hands, trying to still the convulsive twitch­ing caused by her nervous system going haywire after being over­stimulated.

"You were really brave, Hermione," Parvati said, moving her arm and win­cing.

"Thank you," Hermione said, biting off some of the chocolate. It helped to calm the twitching – not completely, but enough that she wasn't constantly shaking from muscle tremors. She'd managed to forget precisely how unplea­sant it was to be hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

Finishing his business with Coote, Lupin turned back to Hermione. "You were lucky," he said, frowning. "Any one of those Death Eaters could have used Avada Kedavra at any time. You could have been dead as soon as you stood."

"Lestrange called for me specifically," Hermione said. "She's obviously the most senior Death Eater here. The others wouldn't have interfered with what­ever it was she had in mind."

Lupin gave her a level stare. "As quick on your feet as ever, Hermione."

Hermione closed her eyes and turned away from the mild disbelief in his tone. She had responded to Lestrange's taunting out of a certain desperate in­stinct and had only figured out the reasoning behind the impulse later. Lupin, apparently, felt that counted as rationalization.

"He's only worried about you," Parvati said quietly.

Sighing, Hermione opened her eyes. "I know."

Hermione sat behind the house with Parvati for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the running battle and waiting for the splintering pains in her chest to subside. Flashes of light outlined the shadow of the house in multiple colors. She listened to people screaming, crying, and yelling curses, and won­dered at how quickly people could get accustomed to the sounds of battle. Per­iodically, injured Order members would stagger behind the house for treat­ment, or healthy ones would bring updates to Lupin.

Beside Hermione, Parvati sat rolling her wand between her fingers and gri­macing with pain. Luna, on Hermione's other side, lay still – unnaturally still, Hermione thought – and then Hermione realized that Luna's stillness was be­cause she wasn't breathing. Hermione reached over and touched Luna's arm. It was still warm, but there was something about the body that told her that Luna, the strange, the nonsensical, and ultimately, the brave, had gone else­where.

Hermione dropped her hand, frowning, as a numbing sadness moved over her. She and Luna had never been friends, but she had come to respect Luna's intense courage. The D.A. had given Luna a purpose and a fight, and she had enthusiastically taken to defending and aiding the Order after she left Hog­warts. Hermione thought about it for a moment and realized with a shock that she would miss Luna deeply: radish earrings, nonsense creatures and all.

Her head whipped around as she heard a loud _bang!_ from the direction of the street. Several Order members screamed and ran behind the house, patting themselves and their clothes as if they were on fire. _Enough_, Hermione thought, and although her legs were trembling, she forced herself to her feet.

Lupin looked over at Hermione from where he was dealing with the screaming Order members, who were now turning in tight circles. "Are you sure you're recovered enough to return?"

"Enough." Hermione clenched her fists. She felt like she was walking on a bed of coals, but she managed to walk around the corner of the house.

The melee she saw in the street was less a battle and more a series of duels. She spotted Anton Brownet and Byron Ford defending each other against at­tack by a group of Death Eaters, and she saw Angel and Spike brawling with two hulking Death Eaters who had to be Crabbe and Goyle. On the far side of the fight, a revived Bellatrix Lestrange, flanked by two Death Eaters who were likely to be her husband and brother-in-law, sparred with a group of Or­der members including Hannah Abbott. Lestrange hit Hannah with a bluish curse Hermione couldn't immediately identify, cackl­ing as Hannah yelped and fell.

Hermione, shaking from pain and rage, tightened her grip on her wand and ran toward Lestrange's group. Before she reached them, however, a distur­bance at the other end of the high street caught her attention and she stopped, dropping into a crouch for cover.

A Muggle raced towards the high street toward the fighting, yelling some­thing Hermione couldn't make out and waving his arms. The Lestranges and the group fighting them paused and turned, intrigued. Hermione felt her sto­mach drop as the man drew nearer: he was a member of the Muggle constabu­lary. When Muggle law enforcement wandered into wizarding business, Aurors followed, and with the current state of the Ministry of Magic, adding Aurors to this fight would effectively add a gaggle of fresh Death Eaters.

"What's all this then?" he brayed, scowling at Lestrange's group. "_What_ are you doing – stop that right now or I'll have you all in!"

"Go back!" Hermione shouted, standing urgently. She waved him away. "It's not safe – go back!"

The constable waved a fist at her and cotninued pelting down the street toward them.

"A Muggle," cooed Bellatrix Lestrange, "coming to join in the party. She advanced to meet him, the Order members at her back forgotten.

They, however, immediately reacted. "_Petrificus Totalis!_" one of them cried, firing the curse at Lestrange's back. Sneering, Rodulphus Lestrange blocked the jinx and returned fire, setting off another fight.

Hermione moved toward the group, ignoring the main battle and tumult behind her. Bellatrix was still walking toward the Muggle constable, who had slowed to a walk to meet her. Abrupt­ly one member of the group fighting the remaining Lestranges broke off and charged at the constable, evidently inten­ding to protect him from Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Hermione!" she heard from one direction, and "Look out!" from another. The first voice had sounded like Angel's. Hermione whirled and saw a Death Eater leaping over Ernie Macmillan's body, firing nasty curses at her. She flung herself to the pavement, wincing as the asphalt bit into her skin, and then rolled to the side. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, bracing her elbow and pointing her wand at the Death Eater. "_Rictusempra! Tarantallegra!_" Both hexes found their mark. The Death Eater, laughing uncontrollably, danced a wild jig. Hermione, aiming carefully, finished him off with a Stunner. Pushing herself to her feet, she turned back to the confrontation at the end of the street.

There, the Order member – William Summers, she realized, recognizing him abruptly – was wrestling with the constable, trying to pull him out of the line of fire. Bellatrix Lestrange muttered something to one of her cronies and then pointed her wand at the pair, crying, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Summers half-turned before the curse hit. Both he and the constable fell in a blast of green light. _Dammit_, Hermione thought, _that's definitely going to bring out the Aurors_. The Order was already losing the fight. Adding Aurors to the mix would decisively tip the battle in favor of the Death Eaters – and worse, involving the Ministry meant involving the possibility of Azkaban. The last thing Hermione – or any member of the Order of the Phoenix – needed was the Ministry tracking them down with a warrant for their arrest. _Of course_, Hermione thought grimly, _they already have a warrant for my arrest_.

Cackling ghoulishly, Bellatrix Lestrange sashayed toward the far end of the street. The small group of Order members standing between Hermione and the Lestranges opened fire again, curses bouncing every way, and immediately Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange returned fire. Hermione ducked a stray curse and bit her lip, thinking. Remus needed to know about the dead consta­ble – but Bellatrix Lestrange clearly had murder and Muggle torture on her mind – but Remus – but Lestrange . . . the Muggles . . . and other things . . .

Lupin took priority, Hermione decided. This battle had turned disastrous, but once the Aurors arrived it would descend into an outright calamity. He needed the time to reformulate strategy. She turned and hurried as fast as she could back to the shelter behind the house, limping slight­ly.

Behind the house, Lupin stood over Laura Madley's prone body, confer­ring worriedly with Eleanor Branstone. "Remus," Hermione said, and he looked up at her. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed one of the Muggles. A constable."

She saw understanding and alarm flick behind his eyes, quickly replaced by his usual calm, competent demeanor. "And William Summers," Hermione added. "She killed Summers."

Beside Remus, Eleanor frowned, biting her lip, and knelt beside Laura.

"We'll have to retreat, then," Lupin said, worry wrinkling his brow. "We can't fight the Aurors. Not with the losses we've already suffered. Not with –"

_Not with them looking for us_, Hermione finished mentally. "I don't have to remind you that you were the one who wanted –"

"No, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "You don't. I admit I wasn't ex­pecting the force we met. These Death Eaters have been more persistent than usual."

"Because it's us. Voldemort wants us. Lucius Malfoy is probably out there under a mask right now –"

"No." Remus shook his head. "He's not. He wouldn't. Not for this." He paused. "We're going to have to figure out how to coordinate the retreat, or at least communicate that we plan to withdraw. A Sonorus Charm, perhaps –"

"What about the cleansing?" Hermione demanded. "That's what we came down here to prevent! We're just going to leave forty Muggles to fend for themselves against Death Eaters?"

"What would you have me do, Hermione? I've tried to protect them. We're outnumbered. We've already lost five people. There's nothing left. We'll have to pull back."

"Dumbledore wouldn't have retreated." It was out before Hermione real­ized she was thinking it.

The lines around Lupin's eyes went deep. "I have never claimed to be the wizard Albus Dumbledore was." He paused, frowning at Hermione. "We're pulling out. Find your team and get them out of here."

"We should at least fight until the Aurors arrive. Maybe we can hold them off –"

"No, Hermione. We can't. I'm sorry." He turned away as George Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody rounded the corner of the house, supporting Angelina Johnson between them. Angelina was bleeding heavily from a long cut in her abdomen. Hermio­ne, never fond of the sight of blood, turned around.

_There has to be something I can do_, she thought. _Something beside just giving up. We haven't fought like this just to give up. But I've already used my miracle for this fight. What can I do? We can't just abandon the Muggles. We can't just_ –

A loud crack echoing in the street snapped her out of her thoughts. Her­mione heard shouts of "There they are!" and "Stop! Stop!" from the far end of the street and realized she was out of time: The Aurors had arrived.

Hermione ran around the side of the house in time to watch the street erupt into further chaos. Lupin's much-amplified voice called, "_Retreat!_" As Aurors started to fire curses at the mob at the end of the street, Order members turned and Apparated. A series of short snaps from behind her indicated that members of the Order were Apparating away with the dead and the injured. _Find your team and get them out of here_, Lupin had said. From her hiding place, she scanned the street for Angel and Spike. The crowd thinned and she spotted them on the other side of the street, fighting in slow mo­tion. They ap­peared not to have any opponents.

She focused on Spike and Angel and Ap­parated across the street. Neither of them noticed her. _Clever,_ she thought, and waved her wand at both of them. "_Finite Incantatem!_"

Angel and Spike snapped into real motion, finishing up their blows before looking around, confused. "Where'd the ruddy blighters _go?_" Spike asked, shaking his wrists.

"Impediment Jinx," Hermione said. "Neither of those two were any good in school. I'm guessing they realized they couldn't overpower you and decided to freeze you instead. Hold still. Close your eyes." Both Angel and Spike obediently shut their eyes, and she cast a quick Engorgement Charm on both of them. Both of them abruptly grew, swelling to the size of Hagrid.

Spike's eyes popped open. "Wait, what's –"

"Come on, I need your help," Hermione said briskly. She grabbed both the vampires by the hand and closed her eyes before starting the turn –

– and the three of them reappeared in the street between the advancing Aurors and the escaping Order members. The stabbing pain behind Hermio­ne's right eye reminded her that it wasn't wise to Apparate often after having suffered the Cruciatus Curse. She took a deep breath and screamed, "We want to parley! Hold your fire! We want to parley!"

"We do?" Spike muttered behind her.

"Hermione, what the hell are you doing?" Angel asked under his breath. She ignored both of them.

The Aurors did hold their fire. Some of them looked intimidated by the giants flanking Hermione. One Auror, Thomas Melville, stepped for­ward. He had joined the Auror Office after Lucius Malfoy became Minister for Magic. Hermione straightened her spine, drawing herself up. "You wish to parley?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, you're suspected of breaking into Ministry property and assaulting Ministry personnel. You're the leader of a subversive movement, several members of which now stand accused of break­ing the International Statute of Secrecy by brawling in front of Mug­gles. My Aurors can and should bring you in right now, and you wish to par­ley?"

Hermione leveled her chin. "I'm invoking the right to parley as outlined in the Wizarding Battle Code of 1302."

"It's 2004, in case you hadn't noticed, Miss Granger. I'm not sure any­thing drafted in 1302 is still in force today."

"It was enacted by the Wizarding Council when it met at Aylesbury in 1304. Aelgar Mowbray was chief of the Council at the time. Please name for me the legislation that rescinded the laws and codes enacted by the Wizarding Council?"

Melville scowled as if he didn't believe her, but he darted a glance at Angel and Spike and said, "All right. We'll parley. What do you want, Miss Gran­ger?"

"I want you to leave the Muggles alone."

"Miss Granger, we have no interest in the Muggles except to modify their memories so they will forget this ever occurred."

"Save it," Hermione said. "Please. I know the Death Eaters had planned a purifying for tonight. I want you to leave the Muggles alone, and in return I'll keep Angel and Spike from breaking your arm."

"That's your deal? You'll keep them from breaking my arm? That's ridic­ulous, Miss Granger."

Hermione crossed her arms. "It's _not_ ridiculous. Angel and Spike don't know how to do magic, you see. They'll break your arm the old-fashioned way. From what I hear, it hurts quite a bit."

Melville gave her a flat look. "No deal," he said.

Shrugging, Hermione said, "Angel?" He stepped forward, twelve feet tall and solidly built, and she watched Melville shrink.

"And if we do agree to a deal?" Melville asked.

"You call in the Obliviators, the Muggles forget, and you go away and leave them alone."

His eyes shifted sideways momentarily but soon returned to focus on her. "All right."

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it. It couldn't be this easy. Beside her, Spike shifted uncomfortably. She frowned, changing her grip on her wand, and then she raised her wand. "_Flagrate Summa!_" she said, drawing a line between herself and the Aurors. Flames roared up where her wand had pointed, forming a barrier between herself and the Aurors. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw a gaggle of Death Eaters staring at her.

"Oh, Miss Granger," Melville said. "You really think that will help you? _Gelatio Flamma!_" The barrier of flames changed color slightly, going more yel­low instead of the bright, angry red she had produced, and Melville stepped forward into them. "No deal," he said. "Take her and her friends," he added to the Aurors. "You're going to be in Azkaban so long, Miss Granger, your grandchildren will be serving life sentences."

Several of the Aurors charged. Hermione, eyes wide, grabbed at Spike and Angel, picturing Newcastle and hoping she didn't splinch them . . .

* * *

They landed in the front garden of the farmhouse outside Newcastle. The house itself blazed with light and Hermione could see people passing in front of the windows. Hermione dropped Spike and Angel's arms and said, "_Finite_." Both of them shrunk down to their normal size and she started to walk back to the house, when Angel said, "Hermione."

She half-turned, looking over her shoulder.

"We need to talk."

"Go ahead," she said, turning to face both of them.

He stepped forward, his posture tense and angry. "I played along back there, with the blowing up and the bluffing. Whatever that parleying was ab­out, you needed the help. But don't _use_ me like that again. I didn't come here for that."

"If you didn't come here to be used, then what did you come here for?" Hermione asked levelly.

"I came here to _help_," Angel said, gesturing forcefully. "I came here to do something _right_. I _didn't_ come here to be pushed around like some sort of pawn or wheeled out to scare all your little magic friends. I'm not – I'm more than that, Hermione. Next time you have something like that in mind, try talking to me about it first." He paused. "And don't cast another spell on me again without asking me first. I _hate_ when people cast spells on me."

Hermione was silent for a moment. She'd have to apologize, she knew, but she couldn't do it right now. Angel scowled at her and then looked away.

"I just want to know," Spike piped up, "can that enlarging whatsit you did be used selectively, or does it have to be used all over like that? Cause I've got this –"

"Spike," Angel said.

"Or Angel. He's got this bird –"

"_Spike_," Angel said again, turning to scowl at him.

Spike blinked at him. "What? Just trying to do you a bit of a favor here, mate."

"Never mind," Angel muttered. Hermione had the sense that if there were a wall around, he would punch it. Instead, he strode off, his black coat billow­ing dramatically behind him. "I'm going to go patrol," he said, walking away from them. "Don't wait up for me."

"Going to go sulk, is more like it," Spike said. "But. He's got a point, love. Bit of warning might have been nice, right? Let people in on what you're thinking when you dream up these grandiose plans. I used to know someone like you once, you know. Always planning something. Always pushing every­one else around to fit the game of the moment."

"I suppose you're going to tell me she saw the error of her ways and stopped bossing everyone around and lived a much happier life."

Spike snorted. "Hardly. He still bosses people around. No, he was a right bastard named Angelus. You might know him. He calls himself Angel these days."

* * *

Hermione went back to the farmhouse, Spike tagging along loosely behind her, to find it much emptied of people. The front room was full of the injured, although most of the damage seemed to be relatively mild. The few Order members with any medical training, Molly Weasley among them, cir­culated through the room offering chocolate and first aid. Remus Lupin walked out of the kitchen, saw Hermione in the hall, and said, "You didn't re­treat like I told you."

"No."

He walked closer to her. "What did you do? What was so important that you had to disobey orders?"

"I had to at least try to save the Muggles. I couldn't leave them without at least trying."

"What did you do?"

She looked at the floor, studying the way the wooden planks fit together. "I thought I could bluff the Aurors, scare them off. I made Angel and Spike look like giants and I told Melville I wanted to parley under the Wizarding Battle Code of 1302."

"Which doesn't exist."

"He didn't know that. Most people don't pay attention in History of Magic. I thought I had him, but . . ." She shook her head. "He didn't go for it."

Lupin's face hardened slightly, taking on the expression he got when he had to give a detention to some particularly obnoxious Slytherin. "Could we talk upstairs, please, Hermione?"

She might have been able to forestall Angel with silence, but it wouldn't work on Remus. "All right," she said.

The two of them retreated into the upper hall, standing near the bedroom doors. Lupin stood for a moment, staring at her sadly. "I'm disappointed, Her­mione," he said. "That trick you tried with Thomas Melville was childish and irresponsible. You could have been killed – and you could have gotten Angel and Spike killed."

"They agreed to come along –"

"They agreed to come along for a battle, not to be used as bait. I know Spike and Angel can handle themselves in a fight."

Hermione jutted out her bottom lip. "Umbridge –"

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione. You fooled Dolores Umbridge because she was stupid and greedy. Harry told me about that plan you thought up. You didn't know as much as you thought you did. You still don't. You're not infal­lible, Hermione."

She stared at the wallpaper. "I can't say I'm sorry," she said eventually.

"That's because you're not sorry. Not yet. Sleep on it, Hermione." He paused. "If you were anyone else, I'd tell you that you were barred from mis­sions for a while. I can't do that. But if you do anything like that again, I'll drop you from the Order."

Hermione met his eyes. His concern was plain in them. "You could have been killed," he repeated. "It wasn't worth that. You might have been killed, and then where would we be?"

"Don't," she said. "Don't do that. You said you wouldn't."

"You should go lay down," Remus said, running a hand through his hair. "You need rest after the Cruciatus Curse. We've been taking the most severely wounded to Poppy, but there's not much she could do for you."

Hermione nodded. Every muscle ached when she moved and would for days.

"Don't go in the last bedroom. Our lost are in there. I'll go visit the fam­ilies today."

She nodded again.

"I'm sorry," Remus said, and walked off, leaving her alone in the upstairs hall with her fury and her regrets.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: I really appreciate everyone who sat through the long wait for this chapter. I especially appreciate everyone who has taken the time to review or favorited this story. You guys are balm to have around, particularly after my Comp professor savages my essay drafts. Apparently she disapproves of my grand love affair with the comma.

Chapter Six will be out sometime before the end of the year.

_Next time on Endlong into Midnight_: I'll get around to answering some questions, I swear.


	6. The Isle of Revenants

**Author's Notes**: And Chapter Six makes its debut, two days before the end of the year. I hope it's all right.

For **forceuser1456**, **Lily of the Shadow**, **WhiteTwitch**, **clueless33396**, and for **kate** . . .

And of course for **powerof3**, for betaing and for putting up with my constant natter about things that aren't important.

* * *

Chapter Six  
_The Isle of Revenants_

After hours of tossing and turning, Hermione finally fell asleep at six in the morning. She didn't wake until the evening, and despite having slept nearly twelve hours she was neither rested nor refreshed. The Cruciatus Curse left one with bad dreams in addition to the pain. She creaked out of bed, her muscles protesting every movement, and changed into fresh clothes before shuffling her way into the kitchen. Lupin sat at the table, looking drawn and gray, parchments and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ spread across the table in front of him. At his right, a cup of tea steamed away, untouched.

He looked up as she lowered herself into a chair, wishing that pain potions would help. "Good evening, Hermione," he said.

"Good evening." She pulled the copy of the _Prophet_ across to her. _Aurors Battle Insurgents in Stockbridge Main; 12 Insurgents Killed_ was the banner headline. The actual number of dead was five, including three of her Hogwarts classmates. She sighed and unfolded the paper. "What rubbish."

"Well, yes," Remus said. "Tea?"

"Oh, please."

Lupin stood and busied himself with the teakettle. Frowning, Hermione scanned the article. As with most _Prophet_ articles these days, it substituted pomp and bombast for accuracy and content. Hermione raised an eyebrow as she read of how "Aurors" had arrived in Stockbridge Main to defend the village from a threat, only to be ambushed by "insurgents" who scattered upon encountering resistance. Her gambit with Melville was only mentioned near the end of the article as an "unsuccessful attempt at negotations." It was all the typical Ministry self-aggrandizing trash, more concerned with propping up the Ministry's reputation than with telling the truth. Hermione looked up briefly as Remus set a fresh cup of tea in front of her. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." He retook his seat and went back to reading parchments, absently scratching at his temple. Hermione, after scanning a few more pages, disgustedly flipped the _Prophet_ shut and pushed it back toward Lupin.

She sipped at her tea, which was pleasantly warm, and gazed out the window. In the fading light of the evening, rain dribbled down the window while the branches on the tree in the back garden skittered in the wind. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. Across from her, Remus frowned and scratched notes on a parchment. Hermione rummaged through the many things in her head that she needed to say, and finally settled upon, "There's been no word from Wesley. I checked my mobile for messages. He hasn't called."

"Well, I suppose that's to be expected," Lupin said. "It's only been a few days since he started researching."

They fell silent again. Hermione drank half her cup of tea and then asked, "Did you visit the families today?"

Lupin paused in his writing. "I did. I've returned all the . . . bodies . . . to their families. It was . . . well, it's never something I look forward to. It was especially hard talking to Leonard Lovegood. He didn't take the news well."

"I would have gone with you, if you'd woken me."

"Hermione, you're still recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. You needed the rest. It's all right. You've certainly done your share of notifications in the past."

She scowled but didn't argue the point. After nearly twelve hours of sleep, she still felt like she'd been stepped on by a dragon. Lupin blew gently on his parchment to dry the ink, then flipped it over and went on writing. Outside, darkness had fallen. Hermione stared into her cup of tea and pondered what they were going to do next. The silence of the house weighed heavily around her. Finally, she asked, "Are Angel and Spike downstairs?"

"No, they said they had to go into Newcastle for something. I let them borrow the car. They left just before you got up." Remus smiled slightly. "There was something of a dispute over who drove."

Hermione pictured it and half-smiled. "I'm sure there was. Who ended up driving?"

"Angel did."

She thought. Angel did seem the type to neurotically insist on driving everywhere. He also, she suspected, controlled the radio station with an iron fist.

"About last night," Hermione said, surprising herself. She hadn't really meant to say anything.

Lupin gave her a politely inquisitive look.

"When I didn't leave – I didn't mean – I don't like losing. I didn't want to lose like that. That with Melville – that was something I had to try."

"It's all right to apologize, Hermione."

"No – I can't yet. I'm not sorry for what I did and I'd try it again if I had the whole thing to do over. I just don't want you to think it's something I had against you. I didn't _mean_ anything by it."

Lupin looked at her, rueful amusement on his face. "I know. You're very like Sirius that way."

Hermione pursed her lips. Sirius Black had been, by the end of his life, a man consumed by his flaws.

"I'm not saying that to criticize you, Hermione." Lupin set down his quill. "Sirius didn't like losing much either. He also had trouble apologizing sometimes. It took him two years to apologize for sending Severus Snape after me during our sixth year. Sirius did what he thought he had to, right or wrong."

Hermione looked down, picking up her teacup and swirling the dregs of tea around. Remus had a point: from S.P.E.W. to her gambit with Melville, she'd always done what she thought she needed to. But to be compared to Sirius . . . Sirius had been rash and impulsive, not always given to thinking a situation through all the way. Was she really the same way?

Lupin opened his mouth as if to say more, but both of them jumped at the sound of the door opening. Footsteps echoed down the front hall. Hermione reached into the pocket of her skirt to draw her wand, while Remus half-stood, also drawing his wand.

The footsteps paused in the entryway to the kitchen. "What did you _do_?" a cheery voice said. "The infirmary was _packed_ when I woke up."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're all right!"

"Of course I am," Ginny said, grinning. "Madam Pomfrey kicked me out early. She said she needed the bed for Hogwarts students."

Lupin studied Ginny critically. "You don't look well."

Hermione frowned. Ginny was pale with dark circles under her eyes, looking tired and sheepish. "I still have some potions I have to take. But I'm well enough that I can come back and help. Madam Pomfrey was going spare trying to take care of everyone. What did you _do_?" Ginny walked over to the kitchen table and dropped into a chair.

Hermione shoved the _Prophet_ at Ginny. "We tried to prevent a cleansing."

As Ginny's eyes flicked over the headline, her lips thinned and went hard. "Doesn't look like it went well."

"No," Lupin said, "it didn't."

Scowling, Ginny unfolded the paper so she could read the second half of the article. "Twelve dead?"

"Five," Hermione corrected, grimacing.

"Who?"

"Luna," Hermione said, and Ginny pursed her lips. She continued, "Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. William Summers and Laura Madley."

"Damn it," Ginny said, with some fury. She wadded the _Prophet_ into a ball and pitched it at the bin; with typical Chaser accuracy, it dropped neatly into the can. She flopped back into her chair. "This is rubbish."

"The _Prophet_ usually is," said Remus.

"Not just the _Prophet_, although you're right about that. I mean everything. It's all rubbish. Five dead in one night. Muggle cleansings. This Horcrux thing. Voldemort. If you told me when I started Hogwarts that ten years later I'd be wandering around England looking for little bits of Lord Voldemort's soul, I'd've said you needed your head examined."

"It isn't precisely what I told McGonagall I wanted to do at Careers Advice," Hermione admitted.

Ginny snorted. "You probably told Professor McGonagall you wanted to help the house-elves."

"Actually," Hermione said, very dignified, "I said I was interested in teaching, maybe at Hogwarts or another wizarding school. Then I said I'd like to do something to help the house-elves."

"What did you tell Professor McGonagall you wanted to be, Remus?" Ginny asked.

"Normal," he said absently, digging through his pile of parchment. He paused. "Or a librarian. Speaking of that Horcrux thing." Lupin laid the Horcrux map Wesley had created on the table. "We should probably start looking for the second Horcrux."

"We don't even know what to do with the one we have," Ginny pointed out.

"That's true, but Wesley is working on finding that out, and so there's no harm in looking for the second one."

Hermione peered at the rough map, trying to line it up to the map of the United Kingdom in her head. "That one looks like it might be near Manchester," she said, pointing.

"You might be onto something." Lupin turned the map around to face him. "It looks like it's north of the city. Any underground weapons depots near Manchester, Hermione?"

She shook her head, smiling crookedly at his joke. "If there are, only the government knows about them."

"We could use some sort of Dark magic detector to help us find it," Ginny said. "I mean – a Horcrux that contains a piece of Voldemort's soul? That's got to be the evilest thing in town. So unless someone's killing puppies nearby, a Dark magic detector ought to find it – right?"

Lupin nodded at her approvingly. "Good to see you did actually manage to learn something in Defense Against the Dark Arts. With some of your teachers – but I shouldn't criticize Hogwarts staff –"

"Well, Barty Crouch was an effective teacher," Ginny said. "Shame about the being evil thing."

"We'd need something like a Secrecy Sensor," Hermione mused, "but tuned to Dark magic instead of lies."

"It wouldn't be that hard to charm a Secrecy Sensor into sensing Dark magic," Lupin said. "Start with a Confundus Charm, so it forgets its originial purpose, and work from there." At Ginny's amused and questioning look, he said, "Sirius and I – well, I did most of the charming, but it was Sirius's idea – tuned our fifth year Defense professor's Secrecy Sensor to vibrate every time he said the words 'Dark Arts'. He never did figure out what had happened. I took the charms off at the end of the year."

"Do we even have a Secrecy Sensor handy?" Ginny asked.

"There's a Secrecy Sensor at my flat in London," Remus said, "but we can't go there – Aurors are watching the building."

Hermione considered for a moment. Moody's office – the fake Moody's office – had been plastered with Dark Detectors. Alastor Moody had apparently reclaimed some of them after he was freed from his trunk, but others had stayed at the castle, because she had seen them – "I know where we can get a Secrecy Sensor," she said.

Ginny looked at her searchingly for a moment, then blinked. "Oh!"

"I'll just be a minute," Hermione said, standing. Focusing on the Hogwarts gates, she started the turn –

– and popped out near the Hogwarts gates. She could feel a headache starting behind her eyes, reminding her of the folly of Apparating after taking a Dark curse. Night had fallen here, too, and she shivered, wishing she had thought to put on a jacket before Apparating. A quick flick of her wand, and her Patronus streaked off toward Hagrid's hut with a message. She hunched into herself, tucking her hands under her arms, and pondered if it was worth it to cast a quick Warming Charm.

Hagrid lumbered up to the gates soon enough, keys jingling in his had. "Evenin', Hermione," he said, unlocking the gates. "Are yeh comin' up here to visit the infirmary?"

She smiled wanly at him, now seriously considering that Warming Charm. "I will, yes."

"Give 'em a hello from Hagrid," he said, swinging the gates open. "Good luck with whatever it is yeh're doin'."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione said. She made her best speed up to the castle, through the Entrance Hall and up seven flights of stairs. The way to the Room of Requirement was old and familiar by now, both from five years of Order meetings and, before that, the D.A. meetings in her fifth year. She paced back and forth in front of the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking_, I need into the room where the D.A. met. I need into the room for the D.A. meetings_.

After her third trip up and down the hall, Hermione turned and saw, much to her relief, a very familiar well-polished door with a brass handle. She hurried over to open the door, and –

And there it was again, the cavernous meeting room, torch-lit, book-lined, cushions neatly stacked in one corner. She smiled, briefly remembering that first lesson and the joy she had felt when she realized that her plan to counter Umbridge was going to work. Hermione quickly walked to the back of the room, where the bookshelves were festooned with Dark detectors, and pulled down a Secrecy Sensor. Its many small aerials vibrated slightly, responding to the movement, and then stilled.

"I could use a bag to carry this in," she said, and added, as an afterthought, "and a jacket." As she said it, she spotted a lumpy knitted cardigan hanging on a hook on the wall like it had always been there. Taking the cardigan down, she found a replica of the overstuffed bookbag she had carried through her Hogwarts years. She had to smile again; the Room of Requirement never forgot, it seemed.

"Thank you," she said, shrugging into the cardigan, which was electric blue and knit to the approximate thickness of cast iron. She tucked the Secrecy Sensor into the bag and, slinging it over her shoulder, slipped out of the room.

-----

Hermione returned to the farmhouse outside Newcastle to find Ginny setting the table while Remus stood over a steaming pot on the hob. Ginny glanced up at her and then said, with a revolted expression on her face, "Where did you get _that_?"

"This?" Hermione asked, carefully setting the bag with the Secrecy Sensor next to her chair and hanging the cardigan over the back of her chair. "I found it in the Room of Requirement."

"It looks like it was knitted by a Grindylow," Ginny said.

"It's very warm," Hermione said, "and looks don't matter."

"They do when something looks like that. Ugh."

"Dinner," Remus said, turning from the stove.

The meal passed quickly. Hermione set the Secrecy Sensor on the table, and they ate vegetable soup while discussing how best to turn it into a Dark detector. After dinner, Ginny headed upstairs, saying she needed a rest. Hermione and Lupin worked for another two hours, casting various charms and at one point, out of sheer frustration, simply telling the Secrecy Sensor, "You're going to detect Dark magic now, all right?"

Near nine o'clock in the evening, both of them sat back, tired from the casting, out of ideas and unsure even if the charms had worked. "The trouble is," said Hermione, "is that we don't really have anything we can use to test if the Sensor's working. For all we know, now it finds lost puppies. No, we need . . ."

"Well, I could . . ." Remus reached out a hand to the Secrecy Sensor. It whined quietly, upscaling as his hand approached, and the tiny aerials waved and shuddered as if caught in the wake of someone's passing. "Not Dark enough, apparently," he said. "Or at least, not this time of the month."

"I just wish we could be _sure_," Hermione mused. "Maybe it needs an . . ." She pointed her wand at the Secrecy Sensor. "_Oblitesco!_"

"Mmm. That might work. Or . . ." Lupin trailed off as the Secrecy Sensor's whining suddenly jumped in volume, the aerials jittering all over. Hermione looked back and forth between it and the door, pulling her wand out of her pocket and standing to face the entry into the kitchen. Beside her, Lupin did the same, advancing slightly to give him a clear shot to the front door.

"What _is_ it?" she whispered, shifting back and forth slightly.

"I suppose we'll find out," Lupin said out of the corner of his mouth.

Hermione heard the sound of a car pulling up and parking on gravel. Footsteps. Then the front door opened –

"What, whoa, hey!" Spike said, raising his hands in the air like he was being robbed. "What's all this about? Can't say I'm not used to getting this sort of a reception."

Both Hermione and Lupin lowered their wands. Behind them, the Secrecy Sensor was buzzing and thrashing as if caught in a violent storm. Lupin gave Hermione an impressed look. "I'd say it works. Well done, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said.

Spike edged into the foyer. Angel appeared behind him in the door. "Spike," he said, "despite how much standing around you do, no one is going to stop to admire you, so could you _move_ out of the doorway?"

"Hang on there, then," Spike said. "This lot are armed and dangerous. Might help to know what's going on."

"I do apologize," Lupin said, beckoning them in. "We've rigged a Secrecy Sensor to search for Dark objects to help us find the second Horcrux. Apparently, you qualify."

"I'd be more surprised if we didn't," Angel said.

Hermione grabbed the Secrecy Sensor and stuffed it back in the bag, which did muffle the buzzing and whining somewhat. "I'm sorry," she said, "but at least now we know it works."

"I'll just be downstairs," Spike said quickly, heading for the cellar stairs with great speed.

"I've got to –" Angel held up a bag. "Can I just put this in the fridge?"

"Oh, certainly," Remus said, snatching the Secrecy Sensor, which was threatening to wobble itself off the kitchen table. He turned, considering, and then shut the bag in a kitchen cabinet. Angel slipped his bag into the fridge and then trotted down the cellar stairs without saying another word.

"So," Hermione said. "Should we go to Manchester tomorrow?"

"I suppose. We'll have to drive, though, so we'll need to start off early."

"What are we going to do about Angel and Spike? If we go during the day, they can't go with us – sunlight . . ."

"Well, there's no harm in going to find the Horcrux. If we do find it, we can Apparate back for them after dark."

"All right." Hermione stretched and then winced. The kitchen chairs hadn't done anything to help the soreness she still felt. "I think I'll turn in."

"Good night, Hermione," said Remus. As she headed up the stairs, she saw him start shuffling his parchments again.

-----

They finally started for Manchester around ten, Saturday morning, mostly because of Ginny, who, when awakened at seven, complained that she was still recuperating and slept another two hours. Manchester was three hours' drive from Newcastle, and although the journey was more pleasant than their flight from Bath, it still dragged. The windscreen wipers pushed feebly at the falling rain, making a squeaking noise as they oscillated. Hermione alternately watched the map and the moors, blurred by the rain, while Ginny dozed and Remus kept his own counsel. Again, Hermione tuned the car's ancient radio to Radio 3, and the presenter chatted softly about new CD releases as they bore south.

As they drove through the junction with the M1, Remus spoke up. "How north is north of the city?"

Hermione squinted at the map. "Not far, I don't think, but I can't tell – have you an atlas?"

"Glove box," Remus said, nodding at the dashboard on the passenger side. Hermione pried open the glove compartment and started pawing through a welter of vehicle registrations, insurance forms and other debris that had accumulated in Remus's ownership of the car. Finally, she found a pocket atlas and held Wesley's map up to it, frowning back and forth between the two.

Ginny leaned forward from the back seat, staring over Hermione's right shoulder. "Directly north, I think. Maybe around – Hermione, tilt the atlas this way – maybe around Bolton?"

"As good a start as any," Lupin said. Ginny flopped back into the back seat, and the three of them fell back into silence. Hermione stared idly at traffic on the M62, watching cars and counting down the junctions until they hit Manchester. As they drove into the outer limits of the urban sprawl surrounding Manchester, she carefully pulled the Secrecy Sensor out of her bag and set it on the seat between her and Lupin. It vibrated softly, its many aerials chittering against one another.

"The trouble is that I'm not sure it's strong enough to detect what we're looking for," Hermione said, worrying at her bottom lip. "We've a lot of territory to cover since we can't narrow the map down any, and remember last night – it didn't start warning us about Angel and Spike until they were practically on top of us."

"How do you propose that we strengthen it, then?"

"Amplification Charm," Ginny said from the back seat. Hermione turned her head, looking at Ginny out of her peripheral vision, and Ginny shrugged. "It's usually used on ears, I know. But shouldn't it work?"

"I can't see it doing any harm even if it doesn't."

"Well, all right, then," Hermione said, and she pulled her wand from the pocket of her jacket. "_Amplificare!_" Her spell hit the Secrecy Sensor, which hummed as if resonating from the spell, and then its buzzing and clacking upscaled rapidly.

"Now we've just got to find this Horcrux before one of us goes mad and chucks the Sensor out the window," said Ginny.

-----

It took hours to narrow down the possible location of the second Horcrux, and both Hermione and Ginny were ready to hurl the Sensor out of the car long before the afternoon was over. The modified Sensor was tremendously sensitive and began flailing as if caught in a hurricane long before they reached Bolton. (Hermione suspected that sitting next to Remus, who was a werewolf, after all, hadn't done much to help the Sensor's accuracy.) They were responding to sometimes minute changes in the Sensor's status, arguing over whether the loud noise it was emitting was more of a squeak or a squeal, and whether the aerials were waving north by east or north-northeast. The three of them were thoroughly disgruntled with the search and with each other by the time they stopped in a chip shop for lunch.

"We're never going to find it," Ginny said, frowning at her plate.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "We're so close. It's definitely louder near Bury. Maybe if we . . ."

"It's been exactly the same the entire time we've been driving around. The entire time – back and forth on that road, we even went out to –" Ginny scowled and scrunched her nose, thinking – "Pendleton or wherever, and it didn't change. We're going to have to try something else."

"I think if we just try a bit longer, maybe go a little further north –"

"How much further north, the Lake District? And don't forget we've still got to drive back to Newcastle tonight, unless you plan on Ap –"

"Ginny!" Hermione said, and nodded at the young Muggle sitting two tables behind them – true, he did seem absorbed in his textbook, but one could never be sure.

"– _popping_ back, then, and taking the car with you."

"We can stay here if we don't find it," Hermione said. "Can't we, Remus?"

He looked up from his plate of chips with an expression that said he had hoped to stay out of this argument and said, "We do keep a house in Manchester, yes."

"And what about Angel and Spike? We'd just leave them in Newcastle?"

"No," said Hermione, the plan forming in her head, "we could pop back and bring them and our luggage along once we were settled at the house. It's probably a good idea to move anyway. With all the – _popping_ – that's been going on lately, the Ministry is sure to know where we're at. Better to leave before _they_ catch up with us."

"Oh, all _right_," Ginny said, "but if this hasn't worked by tomorrow evening then it will definitely be time to try something else."

"We'll have found it by then," Hermione said, with a confidence she wasn't entirely sure she felt.

After lunch they piled back into Lupin's car, resuming the search after a quick stop at a petrol station for a fill-up. Hermione argued that they should focus on Bury, as she was sure the aerials on their souped-up Secrecy Sensor had been twitching that way. They spent the later part of the afternoon driving in circles around the town center while Hermione tried to tune the aerial. She finally managed to narrow it to south of the city center, and then further narrowed it by removing the Amplification Charm from the Sensor and monitoring it as Lupin drove the orderly streets of an older neighborhood.

"This street," she said as the car passed another tidy row of terrace houses. "It's somewhere along this street."

Remus quietly and neatly parked the car, and Hermione fretted a moment – she needed to take the Sensor along with her to find the exact house, but she couldn't very well haul something that looked like the mutant offspring of an aerial and a Christmas tree along a Muggle street, especially not with it squawking the way it was. She settled for zapping it with a Shrinking Charm and a Silencing Charm before slipping it into her pocket, hoping the vibrations would guide her. Lupin put up an umbrella to shelter them from the rain and the three of them set off along the street, trying not to look too suspicious. Hermione kept a hand on her pocket, frowning with concentration.

They walked nearly to the end of the street, but finally Hermione stopped them. "It's not vibrating as much," she said. "It's back this way." She, Lupin and Ginny backtracked three houses before she stopped. "This one."

Beside her, Ginny looked up at the house. It was much like every other house on the street, two stories, made of brick, older style and projecting an air of genteel shabbiness. Prim curtains, shut tight, hung in the windows. Dubiously, Ginny said, "Voldemort is hiding the second horcrux in a _Muggle_ house?"

"Well, we don't know that it's the second Horcrux," Lupin pointed out. "Only that there is a source of Dark magic in that house."

"Come on," Hermione said, "let's see who's home." She started up the walk, Remus and Ginny following behind.

"If it isn't a Horcrux, I'm not sure I want to meet the sorts of Muggles who are hiding Dark magic in their home," Ginny muttered.

The three of them squeezed onto the stoop. Hermione smartly rapped on the front door, twice, before spotting a buzzer and ringing that.

"One moment!" they heard a voice call from within the house, and then the sound of footsteps. A blurry face appeared in the lead glass window in the front door, and then the door was pulled open.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the house's owner said, blinking at them.

Hermione blinked back, temporarily stunned.

Percy Weasley stood in the doorway of his home, looking as if he'd swallowed a live fish by mistake.

-----

The four of them stared at each other for a moment. Percy seemed to have been struck dumb by the sight of the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, his dead brother's fiancee, and his sister on his doorstep. If he was shocked, it was nothing to what Hermione was feeling. _Percy, messing with Dark magic? I'd never believe it._

_But he always has been ambitious_, she thought. _And Ron did worry about him. But he left the Ministry after Lucius Malfoy came to power . . ._

"_Percy?_" Ginny asked, her tone both amazed and disgusted.

"Percy?" A woman's voice echoed her from within the house. "Percy, who is it? Is it the Girl Guides again?"

"It's all right, Penny," Percy said, half-turning away from the trio on his stoop. "Just someone who got the wrong house by mistake." He gave them an angry and frightened look before snapping the door shut.

"Now just a minute," Ginny said. She stormed past Hermione and pounded on the door. "Percy, you stupid berk, _let us in!_ We wouldn't have come to see you if it weren't important, you sodding twit, so _open the door and let us in!_" She paused, and then resumed pounding on the door with increased vigor. "It's about that bloody Horcrux you've got, and we know you've got it, no mistake –"

Percy wrenched the door open; Ginny nearly smacked him in the face before she caught herself. "What about a Horcrux?"

"Why don't you let us in and we'll discuss it?" Remus said reasonably.

Percy's lips thinned, but he said, "All right. Come in." He stepped aside, holding the door open, and the three of them trooped inside. He was guiding the three of them to the parlor, which was clean and neat if a bit plain, when a curly-haired woman with a baby on her hip stepped out of the kitchen at the rear of the house. Hermione's eyes widened with recognition. _Penelope Clearwater!_

"Percy," Penelope said, jogging the baby a bit as he reached for her hair, "what's going on? What are –" Her gaze fell on Ginny, then Remus and Hermione, and she gave them the same sort of fearful and furious look Percy had given them earlier.

"It's all right, Penny," Percy said, adjusting his glasses. "I'll explain after they've left. Just – get dinner for Marcus. It's all right."

"All right," Penelope said, but she looked troubled.

Percy led his guests into the parlor, gesturing to them to settle on a sofa while he sat on a cozy-looking chair. Hermione took a moment to study him. He looked older, of course – it had been nearly five years since she saw him last. He wore his hair shorter than he used to, perhaps to cover the fact that he was already balding, and he'd switched from the thick, horn-rimmed glasses to nearly rimless lenses. At the moment, he also looked irate, much as he used to when he caught Fred and George in some sort of mischief at Hogwarts, but underneath the anger there was a layer of worry. Percy, Hermione guessed, had been living with his secrets long enough to be concerned about what happened when they came to light.

Beside her on the sofa, Ginny looked to be in a towering fury. _Probably best if Remus or I do the talking then_, she thought, and she nudged Lupin, who was sitting on her other side. He leaned away from her but made no move to speak, and the four of them sat in an uncomfortable silence for what felt like several dozen years. Eventually, Percy said, "I don't know what you're doing here, or how you found me."

"It's been a long road to your door, Mr. Weasley," Lupin said. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Face and voice tight, Percy said, "No."

"Not many do. It's been restricted information for many years, mostly because they're extremely Dark magic, and the Ministry doesn't want anyone getting ideas. A Horcrux is a little piece of someone's soul, cut off and sealed away inside an object. Very powerful. But also _very_ evil. And not safe to have around in the least."

Percy swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Lord Voldemort made Horcruxes," continued Lupin, conversationally. "It's why he's been so hard to kill. Seven of them, through the years, pieces of his soul tucked away inside some of the most valuable artifacts of the wizarding world." He shifted, leaning forward. "And after Voldemort finished making his Horcruxes, he gave them to his loyal followers to hide. You might remember your sixth year at Hogwarts, what happened to Ginny? That was caused by a Horcrux. The Horcrux given to Lucius Malfoy."

Lupin paused, his face going hard. "We know there's a Horcrux in this house, Percy. Where is it?"

"Now wait just one minute!" Percy said, getting to his feet. "You cannot come into my home and accuse me of being some – some _Dark_ supporter and hiding things for You-Know-Who –"

"And why can't we?" Ginny snapped, also standing. "After all you've done? So bloody proud of the way Fudge was using you to spy on Dad, your lips were glued so tightly to Fudge's arse it's a wonder you didn't get pulled with him when he was tossed out of office, and we all know who it was that was really running the Ministry when Fudge was Minister – same person it is now, Lucius Malfoy! And you wonder why we wonder? You've never admitted to us that you were wrong, never apologized for the way you've treated Mum, and Dad – and then after Malfoy came to power you worked for him, too, didn't you? Until one day you just up and bloody _disappeared_, we didn't find out you were gone for _weeks_, since you wouldn't bloody _talk_ to any of us – for all we knew you'd _turned_ and had your first assignment and maybe even gone off and got killed."

Percy stared at Ginny, and Hermione could see the hurt underneath the outrage. "And Mum – you don't know what this has done to Mum," Ginny continued. "You've been a right bloody bastard to Mum and she doesn't deserve it. She's already lost two sons, and it's like she's lost a third because you've been _gone_ for so long, and why? Because you're an enormous wanker, so far as I can tell – that, or you've gone Dark and I'm not sure which reason Mum would rather it be. Dark is bad enough. But knowing, every day, that you haven't come home because you're the biggest bloody tosser that ever walked the planet?" Ginny shook her head.

"Get out," Percy said, his ears and cheeks very red. "I won't have these unfounded accusations. You have no right –"

"Ginny," Lupin said, "sit down. You're not helping matters."

Glowering at her brother, Ginny sank back to her seat on the sofa. Percy said, voice constricted, "I still want you out of my home –"

Interrupting loudly, Lupin said, "Now, I apologize for accusing you of being a Dark supporter, Percy – unless you _are_ one, in which case I say _a-ha!_ But the fact remains that there _is_ a Horcrux in this house, and we're not going to leave until we have it, so you might as well sit down and take this time to explain yourself."

Percy, clearly furious, stood his ground for several seconds before resuming his seat. After a long pause, he spoke. "I did make some mistakes as Fudge's assistant."

"Mistakes?" Ginny snorted. "You disowned us. You said Harry was crazy. You supported _Umbridge_."

"Mistakes," Percy said firmly. "I was young, and Fudge was powerful – although I realize now that, as you said, that power was mostly due to Lucius Malfoy – and I did have ambitions. It was clear, at the time, which way the wind was blowing at the Ministry, and it was also made clear that if I wished to keep my position, I'd have to . . . adopt a position favorable to Ministry policy."

"Lie and kiss arse, you mean."

"There wasn't any _proof_ he was back, besides Harry's word, at the time," Percy said. "Who wanted to believe that You-Know-Who could be back? Certainly not Cornelius Fudge, nor I. You don't know what it was like before You-Know-Who fell, and the years after; you're too young. I remember just a bit. Dad was gone all the time and Mum was so scared –"

Percy pursed his lips. "Then Fudge was forced out of power and Scrimgeour elected Minister. You all made it obvious that even if I wished to apologize, I would not be accepted – I seem to remember _you_ flinging a tureen of mashed turnip at me –"

"You _deserved_ it!" Ginny spluttered. "You'd been an _enormous_ pillock the year before, and we could tell you didn't even want to be there – not hugging Mum back when she hugged you . . ."

"At any rate," Percy said, "I stayed on with Scrimgeour. But then he was murdered, and Lucius Malfoy became Minister." He paused. "Malfoy kept me on for a few weeks. He had me do mostly menial tasks, things that house-elves normally do – I think he was testing the extent of my loyalty to the Minister."

Percy gave Lupin a dignified look. "I failed. The last thing he asked me to do – I wasn't willing to do it. Malfoy demoted me to the Centaur Office. The writing was clearly on the wall. Penny and I began preparing to run.

"After a few weeks, Malfoy called me into his office and gave me an ultimatum. He said that either I could join the Death Eaters and do my part to 'redeem the Weasley name,' as he put it, or . . . well. It wasn't a hard decision. I packed up my desk and Penny and I ran. We've been in hiding ever since."

"And the Horcrux?" Lupin asked.

"If this Horcrux is what I believe it is, I've had it since shortly before my demotion to the Centaur Liaison Office. Malfoy told me one day that there was a locket he wanted for his wife and he told me it was up to me to use 'any method necessary' to retrieve it.

"I went to meet with the man who had the locket. He was a historian, some sort of collector – he was very upset when he heard what I wanted and who wanted it. He said the locket was cursed and evil and that Malfoy shouldn't have it. He hadn't any intention of giving it to me or to anyone; he said that as soon as he could figure out how, he was going to destroy it."

Percy looked down. "I panicked. I knew Malfoy wanted the locket quite badly and I'd, er, _heard_ what he did to other staff members who hadn't done as he asked.

"I punched the man and took the locket. I intended to take it back to Malfoy, but when I felt it . . . I could feel that there was something _off_ about it. It was unsettling. I kept the locket and told Malfoy that the man had destroyed it before I arrived. He didn't take that well. That was when he demoted me to the Centaur Office."

"Wait, _you_ punched someone?" Ginny said, looking incredulous. "When did you learn to punch?"

"Bill taught me when we were younger," Percy said stiffly.

"Could we see this locket, Percy?" Lupin asked.

"Certainly." Percy rose and left the parlor.

Hermione turned to Ginny. "You've been wanting to say all that for a long time, haven't you?"

"Years," Ginny said. "It's just been sort of . . . brewing."

Lupin said, "A locket. Slytherin's locket?"

"Sounds like it must be," said Hermione. "The original of the one Harry and Dumbledore went to fetch sixth year."

Lupin shook his head. "All these years, and we thought it was missing. And it turns out that Percy Weasley, of all people, is the one that's been holding on to it."

Percy reappeared downstairs several minutes later holding a velvet bag. "This is it," he said, opening the bag and upending it over the coffee table. A tarnished silver locket fell onto the table with a metallic _clunk_. Lupin frowned and leaned back into the sofa.

Both Hermione and Ginny gasped. "I've seen that," Ginny said.

"We found it when we were cleaning out Sirius's house," said Hermione. "None of us could open it. I thought Mrs. Weasley had set it aside to be destroyed."

"Kreacher," Lupin said. "She probably didn't notice he'd taken it back."

Ginny said, "But how did it get from –" she struggled a bit with the bounds of the Fidelius Charm, as Percy was not a member of the Order and was not in on the secret – "_there_ to here?"

Hermione frowned. "I remember – during sixth year, Harry caught Mundungus Fletcher selling stolen silver from Sirius's house to Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Entirely likely that he took this as well." Lupin gestured at the locket. "Would one of you please pick it up?"

Ginny reached out and took the locket. Hermione felt the Secrecy Sensor in her pocket go into overdrive, buzzing and shaking and feeling like it was trying to burrow into her side. She looked over at the locket, which Ginny was holding on her opened palm.

Even through the tarnish, she could see it was made of fine silver. It bore a filigree _S_ on the front, with meticulously worked lines that reminded Hermione of coiled snakes worked around it. She twitched, feeling what Percy had said about the locket. It had to be something that Slytherin had done to it, though, because she had handled Ravenclaw's brooch and it felt like a normal piece of jewelry. She glanced over at Remus, who was trying to examine the locket while leaning as far away from it as possible and had turned a pale shade of green.

Lupin broke off staring at the locket and looked up at Percy. "We'll need to take this with us."

"That's quite all right with me," Percy said. "I've never felt quite right having it in the house. Marcus is young yet and I've kept it hidden, but I worried that when he was older –"

Ginny managed a smile. "Mum'll go spare when she hears about this. Fleur is just about ready to pop, and Mum's been all a-twitter over 'her first grandbaby'. She'll go mad when she hears that she's already got one."

"Don't tell her."

"Are you _mental_?" Ginny demanded. "Of course I'm going to tell her. All Mum has wanted to know since you disappeared is that you're all right."

"I'll tell her myself, Ginny," Percy said. "I will. I just – I've been waiting until I know that we'll be safe, Penny, Marcus and I."

"If you want, the Order can provide some security for you, Percy," said Remus. "It'd take a few days, but we do have the ability to perform the Fidelius Charm."

Percy swallowed and seemed to be debating with himself. Turning red again, he said, "I think that – Yes. We'd appreciate that."

"All right," Lupin said. "I'll have someone contact you tomorrow to start on that." He stood, prompting Hermione and Ginny to stand also, and extended a hand to Percy. "I apologize for the way this went. I imagine it wasn't quite how you planned to reunite with your family."

Managing a shaky smile, Percy shook hands with Remus. "It was rather unexpected," he said, and used his other hand to slide his glasses back up his nose.

Hermione handed Ginny the jewelry bag and Ginny slid the locket back into it. Remus started to regain some of his normal color. "Are we quite ready to go?" he asked.

Ginny frowned and pursed her lips before looking to Percy. "Before we leave, could I meet Marcus?"

"Well, certainly," said Percy, looking both surprised and gratified. "He's having his dinner right now, of course, but you could go in and see him."

"He's my nephew," Ginny said, apparently in response to the look on Percy's face. "You're still a tosser, but he's my nephew." She stalked out of the lounge.

"Excuse me, Percy," Hermione murmured, and she slipped out of the lounge after Ginny. She caught up with Ginny in the kitchen, nearly running into Ginny's back.

"Hello, Marcus," Ginny said gently. "I'm your Aunt Ginny."

Hermione leaned around Ginny, trying to see into the kitchen. Ginny stepped aside, revealing a ginger baby who could have passed for an infant version of Ron – although his hair was darker than Ron's carroty orange, more of an auburn. Marcus gazed up at Ginny bemusedly from his high chair, a bowl of mush forgotten on the tray in front of him. Looking at him, Hermione felt a pang for the loss of Ron. Some wounds, she reflected, were slower to heal than others.

Penelope sat in a chair across from Marcus, looking harried if pleased. "He looks just like his uncles," Hermione said to her. "I've seen pictures."

Penelope smiled. "Percy says that too."

"How old is he?" asked Ginny.

"A year," Penelope said as Marcus babbled at Ginny and reached out a sticky hand for her. "You'll have to forgive him. He doesn't see many people besides us."

"It's all right," Ginny said. "He's just a baby."

"He's a good one, mostly." Penelope's expression went wistful. "Percy and I have talked about maybe having another child, but . . ."

Hearing footsteps behind her, Hermione turned. Percy appeared in the doorway, followed by Remus. "It's all right, Penelope," Lupin said. "We're taking this Horcrux off your hands, and the Order can protect you. You'll be able to live your life how you want."

"Is everything all right, Penny?" Percy asked.

"We're just talking baby," Penelope said. "We're all right."

Lupin cleared his throat slightly. "It's a long way back to Newcastle," he said. "Perhaps we should get started."

"Oh, all _right_," Ginny said. "We should." She waggled her fingers at Marcus and looked to Penelope. "Thank you for letting me talk to him."

"You're welcome," said Penelope.

"We'll be in touch," Lupin said to Percy, and the three of them left.

-----

The rest of the weekend passed quietly. Hermione slept late on Sunday morning, still recovering from the battle at Stockbridge Main, and then spent most of the day knitting. Remus was in and out during the day, consumed by the preparations for the Fidelius Charm, and Ginny was swept up in them also. In what was perhaps the start of a reconciliation between the Weasley siblings, Ginny had volunteered to be the Secret-Keeper for Percy and Penelope, and Percy had agreed.

Spike and Angel were restless – bored, Hermione could tell. She wondered for a moment at what sort of life they must have led in Los Angeles and then went back to her knitting.

Evening fell upon the house. Hermione dug through her yarn bag, finally coming upon a ball of soft blue yarn that she had bought several years ago and never had occasion to use. She smiled, a little sadly, and started casting on.

She was midway through a baby hat when she heard her mobile phone start ringing. Hastily, she shoved her needles into the ball of yarn and sprinted for her purse in the kitchen. There were only a few people who had reason to call her on her mobile, and all of those reasons were urgent.

She managed to catch the phone just before it went to voicemail. "Hello?" she said.

"Miss Granger?" Wesley's tinny voice said.

"Speaking. Have you found anything?"

"I have indeed. That was what I was calling to tell you."

Hermione listened as Wesley described his three days in the Wolfram & Hart library. She nodded a few times, and then her eyes went wide as she realized what it was he was saying. "Could you hold just a moment?" she asked, already taking the phone away from her ear.

"Remus!" she called, hurrying toward the front of the house.

"Yes, Hermione?" he said from the parlor. She paused in the doorway and he looked up at her, surrounded by a welter of books, candles, and other magical paraphernalia.

"It's Wesley," she said. "He's on the phone right now."

She held her mobile out to Lupin.

"He says he's figured out how to destroy the Horcruxes."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Reviews make me happier than a Weasley at a Quidditch match.

I thank everyone for their willingness to stick with this story. The next update will probably be before the end of March 2007.

_Next time on Endlong into Midnight_: Wesley shares his theories on how to destroy Horcruxes, and an old friend returns.


	7. The Plain of Mementoes

**Author's Notes**: Welcome, everyone, to Chapter Seven of _Endlong into Midnight_.

For **Black-Widow-Girl**, **Lily of the Shadow**, **Pandora of Ithilien**, **grangerinvestigations**, and **desartratt**. For everyone who has favorited this story. For everyone who has been waiting for the next update.

And as always for **powerof3**, for putting up with my convoluted ramblings about this story.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN  
_The Plain of Mementoes_

"I think I've figured out how to destroy the Horcruxes," Wesley said, pushing absent-mindedly at his nose as if reaching for glasses that weren't there anymore, and rearranging the books spread before him on his desk.

Hermione frowned at him and was aware of Angel doing the same from where he stood against Wesley's office wall. He didn't look healthy, Wesley, with creases in his forehead and bags under his eyes. The usual stubble on his jaw was well along toward becoming a beard. She wondered when Wesley had slept last.

"Voldemort, it would appear, doesn't speak Greek," Wesley said. "I had managed to exhaust the printed resources with references to Horcruxes, I admit –" he indicated the pile of books teetering on the edge of his desk, then continued, "but then I hit upon the idea of searching through the collection of scrolls preserved in the vault."

"You found something," said Angel.

"I did indeed," Wesley said, giving Angel a look that Hermione translated as _thank you for that stunning observation_. "A small cache of scrolls written by an ancient Greek magician and scientist named Her­po the Foul."

Hermione blinked. "Herpo the Foul? He wasn't just a magician, he –"

"He was a wizard, yes. As I discovered when I read these scrolls."

"He created the first basilisk," said Hermione. "He was one of the darkest Dark wizards that ever lived."

Illyria, standing in the far corner of Wesley's office, turned at the mention of the basilisk. Hermione glanced at it and saw its face flicker with interest, quickly smoothed over into the usual air of haughty su­periority.

"We should have figured he'd have something to do with this," Ginny said from behind Hermione. Hermione turned, looking over her shoulder, and saw Ginny scowling. "It wouldn't be the first thing he invented that Voldemort turned into a toy."

"We had a bad experience with a basilisk at Hogwarts," Hermio­ne ex­plained.

Wesley frowned, blinked, and unrolled a scroll onto his desk. "At any rate, while I doubt that Herpo was the first to discover Horcruxes, from the content of these scrolls, he appears to have done significant research into both their creation and destruction."

Lupin, sitting in the chair next to Hermione, leaned forward. Wesley pushed the scroll toward him. He continued, "Herpo wrote, '_To einai_' – he's referring to a Horcrux here – '_to einai opous ena pro­soupo_' – which jibes with what you've told me about the creation of a Horcrux, Miss Granger. Then he continues, '_Tha to katastrepse­te o idios_ –'"

"_English_, mate," Spike interjected. "For the rest of us, some bloo­dy English please."

Wesley gave Spike a sour and cranky look. "Accounting for Herpo's extra­ordinarily bad spelling, I believe the translation of the scroll is, 'The Horcrux is now like a person. You will destroy it the same way that you will destroy a person.'"

"Of course," Hermione breathed, "of _course_. They've _souls_, so you have to kill them like you would a human. Oh, why didn't _I_ think of that?"

"Which brings up another question." Angel shifted, crossing his arms and repositioning himself against the wall. "How do you kill a piece of metal?"

"Shoot it?" suggested Spike. "Smash it? Put it in a locked room with Peaches singing karaoke?"

"_Avada Kedavra_," Lupin said flatly.

"You're sure?" Wesley asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It makes sense." Lupin sighed and scratched at a temple. "These Horcrux­es are magically created – they have a magical life, and they need a magical death. _Avada Kedavra_ does that. It's a totally magical method of killing, undetectable by Muggles. Those other ways – well, aside from Angel's singing voice, I won't deny that they're effective for killing, but they're Muggle me­thods. I don't think they'll work on an object so profoundly magical as a Hor­crux."

"I don't know, mate, I think the karaoke might be the way to go," said Spike.

"Is it really that bad?" Ginny asked Angel.

"I don't sing."

"Oh, it is," Spike said with an air of reminiscence. "We were in Paris this one time, must've been 1890 or so, and Angel got it in his head –"

"Spike."

"– anyway, a policeman comes along –"

"_Spike_." Angel heaved a beleaguered sigh and looked at Wesley. "Can we get this back on topic, _please?_"

"Miss Granger said the Killing Curse is a Dark curse," Wesley said, peer­ing at Lupin. "Do you have someone capable of performing it?"

"I can," Lupin said, looking rather grim. "You don't have to be evil to be able to kill."

Wesley looked at his desk. Hermione shifted in her seat. She had tried, once, to cast _Avada Kedavra_. It had been on her first raid after Ron's murder; Amycus Carrow had cornered her and taunted her, crudely, about Ron. In rage and sorrow, she'd tried to cast the Killing Curse, but it had failed in a shower of green sparks. Eventually, she'd escaped from Carrow by kneeing him in the groin and fleeing while he was doubled over.

She hadn't tried to cast _Avada Kedavra_ since. Harry had told her, when she told him about the experience, that Bellatrix Lestrange had once told him that you had to _mean_ the Dark curses in order to cast them. It had made her shiver then – and still did now – thinking of exactly how one would have to feel to _mean_ to cast a Dark curse. The months after Ron died had been the worst of her life, and yet even that wasn't enough to fuel a Killing Curse.

"Are we sure it's wise, though?" she asked, shaking herself out of memory. "I mean, surely it can't be as easy as that, _Avada Kedavra_ and you're done. Professor Dumbledore nearly lost a hand trying to de­stroy that ring. If it'd just been a matter of casting a Killing Curse at it, I don't think he would have had all that trouble."

Remus shared a frown with Wesley. "It's certainly worth a try, go­ing with what we have."

"There are more scrolls in the vault that I haven't touched yet," said Wesley. "I suppose I can continue to research while you test the theory."

"Do you have someplace we can set up to try destroying the Hor­cruxes we have?"

Wesley glanced at Angel, who said, "There's a training room on the third floor. Er – second floor, over here. Contained space, obser­vation booth."

Remus stood; sensing the meeting was over, so did Hermione. He turned to address both her and Ginny. "Would either of you Appa­rate back to New­castle and bring back the Horcruxes?"

"I'll do it," Ginny said.

"Ravenclaw's brooch is in my valise," said Hermione.

"I'll be right back." Ginny spun and disappeared with a _pop_.

Angel said, "I'll go ahead and open up the room," and departed. Spike trailed after him.

Hermione frowned and wrung her hands, chewing on her lip. She could­n't deny that the idea of _killing_ the Horcruxes had a certain ele­gance to it – plus there was certainly evidence to support it; the basil­isk that had Petri­fied her had nearly killed Harry before he used it to destroy Voldemort's school di­ary. _One instance does not a theory make, though_, she thought.

Remus gave her a questioning look. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm usually the one to ask you that."

"Hermione."

"It's too easy!" she said. "All of this has been too simple. That dia­ry nearly _killed_ Ginny at Hogwarts, Harry and Professor Dumbledore were nearly killed by Inferi trying to find that fake locket, and all we met at Monkton Farleigh was a junior Death Eater and a decoy –"

"– Which almost killed Miss Weasley," Wesley interrupted. "And Angel fought several Death Eaters that the rest of us didn't."

"It's just that if beating Voldemort is so easy –"

"Then why haven't we done it before?" finished Lupin.

"Exactly."

"I don't really know what to tell you, Hermione. I think you're making an unfair comparison. After Voldemort moved the Horcruxes in 1998, all our intelligence on their locations was useless. This is the first time in six years that we've even had an inkling of their location. You're conflating the progress of our search with the progress of the overall war, and they're not two things that can be compared.

"Bear in mind, also," Remus continued, "that Wesley has access to mater­ials I'd never even heard of – nor had you, either, I don't think, or you would already have known all this. Voldemort knows I'm no Albus Dumble­dore – I don't think he expected anyone else to stumble upon how to destroy a Hor­crux, after that information died with Albus."

"Voldemort is a fool," said Illyria, and Hermione jumped.

"I wondered if you were going to contribute something," Wesley mut­tered.

"He is a child, borrowing the power of others far greater than he and be­lieving himself mighty. A tinpot dictator on a throne of dust."

Remus tilted his head. "It's an accurate description, actually."

With a _pop_, Ginny reappeared in Wesley's office. "I have them," she said, holding up the jewelry bag that contained Slytherin's locket.

"The practice room is this way," Wesley said. "Excuse me." He led the four of them out of his office and over to the lift. Hermione fidgeted slightly as the lift climbed to the second floor and Wesley led them into the corridors of the upper part of the Wolfram & Hart building. "It's here," he said, stop­ping in front of a set of double doors.

The doors swung open and Angel stepped out. "You ready?" he asked.

Ginny again hefted the jewelry bag before handing it to Remus. She dug in the pocket of her denims briefly, pulling out Ravenclaw's brooch and hand­ing it to him also. "I'm ready," Lupin said.

"Good." Angel escorted them into the training room, a large room with padded walls. Hermione surveyed the neat racks of wea­ponry (bearing mostly quarterstaves, although there were a few axes) and wondered again what sort of law firm needed an exercise room with weapons.

"Observation room's this way," Angel continued, and led them through another door into a glassed-in room that adjoined the train­ing room. Spike was there, leaning against the glass wall that looked into the training room and looking utterly bored. Ginny, Hermione, Wesley and Illyria filed into the observation room and Angel let the door swing shut behind them. He pressed his palm against a button on the wall and said, "Whenever you're ready."

Remus pursed his lips and rubbed his forehead before nodding and striding across the room. Carefully, he placed Ravenclaw's brooch on the floor, as far away from the observation window as possible, and with measured steps he walked back to his original position. He breathed in, once, twice, and seemed to be focusing on something within himself.

Ginny came around to stand on Hermione's left, before the win­dow. "I don't want to watch this," Hermione muttered. She had known, in detached intellectual fashion, that Lupin was capable of great violence and anger ever since her third year and that terrifying night in the Shrieking Shack. Sirius had blustered and screamed; Snape had seethed and raged; but Lupin had calmly and rationally in­formed a friend that he intended to kill him, his anger all the more frightening for being so casually expressed. That didn't change the fact that it was still disquieting to see her quiet and kind mentor do things like coolly torture a Death Eater for information or perform the Killing Curse. Knowing didn't always mean accepting.

Ginny nodded sympathetically, reaching over to take Hermione's hand.

In the practice room, Lupin opened his eyes. Grimacing, he flung out his wand hand, pointing at the small bronze brooch and crying, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Hermione saw the green light from the curse streak across the training room before the brooch exploded in a blinding flash of white light that struck her like a bomb detonation. She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her vision, and after a few seconds the retinal ghosts faded and jittered out of the way.

Beside her in the observation room, Ginny blinked and rubbed her eyes. In the training room, Remus looked slightly stunned, shaking his head exper­imentally. "Did it work?" he said loudly. "Hermione?" He paused. "Oh _dear_."

"Something's gone wrong," said Angel, and he launched himself out the observation room door. Hermione felt a cold lump of worry coalesce in her stomach as she followed him out the door, Ginny trail­ing after. She, Ginny, Angel and Wesley clustered around Remus, who was blinking and frowning.

"Hermione?" Lupin asked. She reached out to him, resting a hand on his sleeve, and he nodded. "The backlash from that Horcrux appears to have affec­ted my sight and hearing," he said, still too loudly. "Perhaps you should take me to see Poppy?"

"That may not be necessary," Wesley said from Hermione's right, aiming a look at Angel over her head. "We may be able to treat him here."

Angel nodded. "I'll see if there's anyone available." He barrelled out the doors of the practice room.

"What's he doing?" Ginny asked, sounding protective and just a bit suspi­cious.

"Wolfram & Hart has a laboratory on site," said Wesley. "We may be able to examine him there. We're already here, after all."

"Hermione?" Remus said, more quietly than before. She took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and he turned toward her.

"Is it wearing off?" she asked. He didn't respond, nor did his eyes follow when she raised a hand and waved it experimentally. She sighed. "I suppose not."

"What does a law firm need with a laboratory?" Ginny asked Wesley.

"Research," he answered, looking somewhat dissatisfied with the answer. "Client support. Mystical analysis. We're hardly your conven­tional law firm, you realize."

"I'd gathered, thanks," muttered Ginny.

"It was," Wesley said, his face clouding over and then closing as it had the first time Hermione met him, "a lure." His tone slammed a door on further discussion of the subject.

"Once for yes, twice for no," said Remus. "Are we going to see Poppy?"

Understanding what he meant, she squeezed his hand twice: _no_.

He looked bewildered, the expression soon giving way to resigna­tion. "I trust you, Hermione. If there's a reason we're not going to Poppy, it must be a good one."

She squeezed his hand once, telling him _yes_, and then shared a worried look with Ginny. "He'll be all right," Ginny said in response.

"I suppose."

"Well, on the bright side," Spike said from the door to the obser­vation room, "looks like it worked." He picked up Ravenclaw's brooch and brought it over to Hermione. "Certainly looks dead to me. How about that."

Hermione studied the little bronze brooch on Spike's open palm. The six small sapphires that had studded its surface were all cracked, the eagle raised on its surface was warped and twisted, and the metal of the brooch had turned black. Spike was right: if it was possible for a piece of jewelry to look dead, Ravenclaw's brooch was managing it. "He did it," she said.

The double doors to the training room swung open and Angel leaned in. Hermione slipped the destroyed Horcrux into the pocket of her khakis. "Dr. Jones said she'd meet us in the lab," he said. "Come on."

"Who's Dr. Jones?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," Angel said, leading them back down the hall to the lift, Remus trailing carefully behind Hermione. "Emily called her, said she'd come in for us."

"Oh, well, that's certainly convenient," said Spike. "Who's Emi­ly?"

"She's the receptionist."

"And she's _Emily_ already. Sounds like you're getting on well, it does. I'm tell­ing Ni­na. She'll be jealous."

"She's the _receptionist_, Spike, her name's engraved on a nameplate on the front desk, that's how I know it. There's nothing – would you stop smiling at me like that!"

"Emily," Spike said again, as if relishing the effect it had on An­gel, and they all piled into the lift together. They descended a floor in si­lence and Angel led them around a corner to a small – but clearly functional – lab.

Hermione looked around, frowning. The lab, all sterile white and sleek computers, clearly saw active use; she saw folders spread across a worktable and a small centrifuge stood open beside them. She still wasn't sure why a law firm needed a lab, despite Wesley's explanation. He had been rather vague. She led Remus to lean against one of the worktables in the middle of the room and re­flected that she and Angel were going to have to have a talk, eventually.

The six of them settled themselves uncomfortably into the lab, while Illyria wandered off into a small office adjoining the lab. Angel crossed his arms ag­ainst his chest and scowled; Spike wandered the lab, idly playing with equip­ment. Wesley, looking concerned, watched the door, occasionally glanc­ing over to Illyria in the office. Hermione chewed her lip, frowning at Remus, who looked placidly confused, and muttered, "This isn't right."

Ginny, on his other side, gave her a questioning look. "Have you an idea?"

"He can't have lost all his senses, or he wouldn't have responded when I squeezed his hand. There's got to be a way to tell him what's going on." She let go of his right hand, turning it so that his opened palm faced up, and start­ed drawing letters on it. _Remus?_

"Tickles a bit, that," he said. "Yes?"

She thought for a moment about how to say what she wanted in the short­est amount of space. _One of their doctors will look at you._

"Wolfram and Hart?"

Hermione drew a letter _y_ on his palm, then added, _Wesley's idea_.

"It makes sense," said Remus. "You know I trust you, Hermione."

She started to spell something on his hand, but was startled by the sound of the la­boratory doors opening. "You're the group from Amer­ica?" said a dark-haired wo­man carrying a satchel.

Angel uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. "We are. I'm An­gel." He offered her a hand.

She shook hands with him. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Jones. Emily said you had a patient you wanted me to see?"

"Ah, yes," Wesley said, gesturing to Remus. "This is Remus Lu­pin. He was – how much do you know about magic?"

Dr. Jones gave him a sharp look. "I assume you don't mean the kind we practice here at Wolfram & Hart."

"No," Hermione said. "How much do you know about the wiz­arding world?"

"I know it exists. One of my cousins is a witch." Jones looked at Hermione with a touch of condescending amusement. "One must know things to work at Wolfram & Hart."

"He was attempting to destroy a Horcrux," Hermione said, keep­ing her annoyance at the woman's attitude to herself. "He cast the Killing Curse at the Horcrux, but when the Horcrux detonated it re­bounded at him. He can't hear or see, either one."

"Hmm," said Dr. Jones, but she looked interested. She thumped her satch­el on the table next to Remus and started digging through it. Hermione squeezed his hand three times and stepped away, giving the doctor room to work.

Jones pulled a stethoscope out of the bag, followed by an enor­mous pink crystal. With one hand, she pressed the stethoscope to Re­mus's heart, while passing the crystal over his arms, chest, and head with the other hand. "Inter­esting," she muttered, and repositioned the stethoscope.

"This would be the doctor?" Remus asked. Ginny, on his other side, took his hand and squeezed it once. He nodded once and seemed to accept what little explanation he could be given.

After a few tense moments of examination, punctuated by further mut­ter­ings to herself, Dr. Jones nodded and pulled the stethoscope out of her ears. "Spellshock," she said authoritatively. "I see it all the time in our shamans and warlocks. Doesn't look like it'll be perma­nent." She rummaged in her satchel for a moment, producing a pack­et of herbs. "Burn these, have him in­hale the smoke, and then send him up for a good lie-down. He ought to be better in the morning. Now I," she said, snapping her bag shut, "am off for a lie-down my­self. Good night." She let herself out of the lab.

Hermione let out a breath. "Oh, thank goodness."

"I told you so," said Ginny, but she looked every bit as relieved as Hermi­one.

Wesley picked up the packet of herbs and examined it for a second. Look­ing up, he said, "Well, there's certainly no need to take him back to Newcastle. We've guest rooms here at Wolfram & Hart – I'm sure it won't be a problem if he uses one for the night."

"Wes, you get them settled in. I'll be around if anyone needs me." Angel headed for the doors.

"Wait!" said Hermione.

Angel turned.

"Could we talk at some point?" She frowned. "I've some ques­tions I want­ed to ask you."

"Sure. Tomorrow."

"All right. Tomorrow morning."

Angel nodded and then left the lab.

"Probably just going to go brood," said Spike. "He's overdue for one. Gets cranky if he can't spend at least four hours a day brooding. 'So tough being a hideous poof. Woe is me.'"

"Spike," said Wesley mildly. "Come on. Let's settle you three in."

Hermione tucked the packet of herbs into her pocket, took Re­mus's hand, and followed Wesley out the door.

* * *

Wesley showed them to a suite on the eighth floor of the Wolfram & Hart building. "Two bedrooms," he said, standing in the small sitting area and ges­turing at closed doors. "Toilet through there. No kitchen, but the canteen opens at seven, which is –" he checked his watch – "nine hours from now." 

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Ring me if you need anything. The operator will connect you." Wesley stepped out of their suite, closing the door behind him.

Ginny gave Hermione a perturbed look. "Now what?"

"Tea," Hermione said, pulling out her wand. She and Ginny worked their way through the suite, methodically warding the doors, the enormous plate-glass windows that made up one wall of the bed­rooms, and lastly placing a Trip Jinx on the main entry in what even Hermione was willing to admit was paranoia.

"We'll have to remember to remove that," she said. "But I feel safer now."

"I have to say, I'd be interested to see who would win in a fight, Wolfram & Hart or the Death Eaters," said Ginny. "What _is_ this place?"

Hermione heaved a breath. "I don't know. The more I see, the less I like – but Remus was right, they _have_ been a help."

"Shamans. Warlocks. Weapons," Ginny said dark­ly. "Something strange is going on here."

"Hamlet said the same thing," Hermione twirled a lock of hair around a finger and looked at Remus, who had managed to settle on­to a sofa in the sitting area. "I'll tell him what Dr. Jones said."

"All right by me," said Ginny. "I'm going to have a look round this suite. Bit posh, isn't it?"

"It is at that," agreed Hermione. As Ginny started opening doors and prowling around, she sat down on the sofa next to Remus and took his hand again. Slowly, she started spelling words on his palm, explaining what Dr. Jones had said and telling him about her diagno­sis of spellshock.

"It makes sense," he said with a shrug and a nod. "The backlash off that spell was – well, look at me."

Hermione wrote, _She gave us some herbs that should treat the con­dition. You have to breathe in the smoke_.

Remus looked resigned. "I suppose the headache tomorrow will be quite worth it. I don't fancy remaining like this forever."

"Oi!" Ginny's voice sounded from the small loo. "They've given us sham­poo, conditioner, soap, _and_ hand lotion. Swank." She appeared in the door of the toilet, holding a small bottle. She opened the bottle and sniffed its con­tents, making a face. "You mean Muggles like having their hair smell like this?"

"Some of them do."

"I think I'll stick with a Hair-Cleaning Charm. It doesn't make your hair as nice as Sleekeasy's does, but it doesn't smell like _that_. Bleh."

"What else have you found?"

Ginny pointed. "There's two singles in the left-hand bedroom, and a dou­ble bed in the right-hand one. The right-hand one's got a little en-suite also. This certainly beats staying at the Leaky Cauldron."

_Staying at the Shrieking Shack beats staying at the Leaky Cauldron_, Hermi­one thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she said, "It's late. We should burn those herbs for Remus and then turn in."

"All right," said Ginny, giving Hermione a concerned look. "Dibs on the bed by the window."

"That's fine, I suppose," Hermione said, rising to her feet and pulling Re­mus along with her. "I'll just be a few."

Ginny nodded and stepped back into the loo, closing the door behind her. Hermione led Remus into the right-hand bedroom and managed to, through a combination of writing on his palm and some gentle pushing, settle him comfortably on the bed. She pulled the packet of herbs from her pocket and dumped them onto the nightstand beside the bed. Pulling out her wand, she aimed it at the herbs and said, "_Flagro!_"

A jet of flame shot out of her wand, lighting the herbs, which began to burn and smoulder. She'd have to keep an eye on the fire, just for safety's sake, but _Flagro_ was designed to allow a witch or wizard to burn a specific object without burning the house down alongside it (which _Incendio_ was prone to do, if cast without proper care.) Remus took a deep breath and coughed, and she patted his hand.

_I'll be outside if you need me_, she spelled.

"All right," he said. "Thank you, Hermione."

She squeezed his hand three times and walked back out to the sitting room.

Ginny opened the door of the loo and then started to perform a string of Tooth-Cleaning Charms, spitting into the sink after each one. "He'll be all right, you know."

"Yes," said Hermione.

Nodding, Ginny put her wand away and headed for the left-hand bed­room. "Good night, Hermione," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Good night," Hermione echoed. She settled herself on a sofa where she could see the little fire burning in Remus's room, watching it and waiting for it to burn out.

* * *

"Good morning, Hermione." 

Hermione jerked awake, realizing first, that sunlight was streaming into the guest suite; second, that she had fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa; and third, that Remus was standing in front of her and smiling at her.

"Bleaugh," she said, and then her brain cleared and she said, more coher­ently, "Remus! Oh _goodness_."

He gave her a gently amused look, sitting down beside her. "Despite Vol­de­mort's best efforts, I re­main healthy and in one piece. Whatever that doctor prescribed, it appears to have worked."

"I suppose that's better than the alternative." She hovered between relief and exasperation, and finally settled on exasperation. "I was really worried! You gave us quite a turn. What if Dr. Jones hadn't been able to do anything?"

"Then we would have gone to Poppy. I wouldn't be the first wizard with spell damage like that she's seen. I'm all right, though, Hermione, although it does look as though you were right to be worried that our proposed solution was too simple. It may need some refinement for the next Horcrux."

"Well, you were right," she said, digging the destroyed Horcrux out of her pocket and handing it to Lupin. "It worked." She shook her head sadly. "A piece of wizarding history – lost."

"It's Lord Voldemort for you," he said. "This was never of worth to him because of its beauty or its history. He wanted it because of the power it rep­resented. It gave him a connection to Hogwarts and the Founders. There have been very few wizards or witches as strong as the Founders both before them and since then."

The door to the left-hand bedroom opened, and Ginny stepped out, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "I thought I heard you two out here. It's nine in the morning, according to the clock in there. Some people might still be sleeping at that time."

"Good morning, Ginny," said Remus.

"It's lucky you woke me up, anyway," said Hermione. "I told Angel that I wanted to have a talk with him this morning."

"What about?" Remus looked at her sharply.

"Wolfram & Hart. Despite what Angel has said, they're clearly not just a law firm, and I want to know what they _really_ are. I don't understand them, and I don't like that I don't understand them."

Lupin nodded. "I see what you mean."

"I mean," Hermione continued, "research labs. Training rooms. Weapons –"

"Shamans. Warlocks," Ginny added, scowling.

"_Magic_," Hermione finished. "How many ordinary law firms are run by a vampire? It doesn't make sense."

"Actually, I know of a law firm up in Manchester that's run by a vampire," said Remus, "but I understand your meaning. It is all very unusual." He frowned and then smiled slightly. "How about we discuss it over breakfast?"

* * *

A call to Wesley produced directions to the Wolfram & Hart canteen, and a further call to Angel produced an assurance that he would meet them there for breakfast – "what breakfast you're likely to get in the canteen," he said, with a grim chuckle. The three of them did what they could to clean up and straighten their rumpled clothing, then Hermione led the way out the door of their suite – 

– falling onto her face in the hall as she went through the door. "_Bollocks_," she said, annoyance provoking an oath from her.

"I'll just remove that Trip Jinx from the door, shall I?" Ginny said as Her­mione picked herself up off the ground.

"It's _not_ funny," Hermione said, very dignified.

Remus, looking as if he were trying very hard not to seem amused, said, "Of course it isn't. Lift's at the end of the hall, isn't it?"

They managed to arrive at the canteen with no further tripping incidents, although Hermione had given Ginny a very sour look after she had started giggling uncontrollably in the lift on the way down. Angel waited for them at a table in the middle of the room, nursing a mug of blood and brooding. He looked up as the three of them entered and said, "Breakfast is in the vending machines over there."

Ginny regarded the wall of machines dubiously. "I don't suppose they take Knuts and Sickles, do they? All I have on me."

"You don't carry regular money?"

"Muggle money? Why should I?"

"Hmph. Well," Angel said, standing up. He walked over to the row of machines and typed in a code on the keypad of the coffee machine. It beeped three times and he nodded. "One of the perks of being president of the Los Angeles branch. Free access to the vending machines."

A few minutes later, they were seated at Angel's table, arranging their breakfasts before them. Hermione had Transfigured some Pop-Tarts into a croissant, although she couldn't do anything to improve the nearly undrinkable coffee. Remus absently stirred sugar into a cup of tea, while Ginny had gone the opposite route and was working her way through a Mars bar and a fizzy drink.

"I have never," said Ginny, "seen a _blood_ dispensing machine before."

Angel shrugged. "Spike and I aren't the only vampires that work for Wolf­ram & Hart."

"About that," said Hermione, and she took a deep breath. "Angel, what _is_ this place? Please don't tell me it's a law firm. No law firm needs a library with mystical tomes. Or a laboratory. Or _weapons_. My uncle is a solicitor, and _he_ certainly doesn't have _shamans_ and _warlocks_ working for him. What is going _on_ here?"

Angel stared into his mug of blood for a few moments before he said, "This _is_ a law firm, Hermione. Lawyers, trials, cases, all of that."

"I don't believe that," said Ginny sharply.

Angel's eyes flicked up to meet her hard stare, and he nodded slightly. "It's an _evil_ law firm, Wolfram & Hart, always has been. They've specialized in taking the cases no other law firm would touch. Too decent. Demons. Mur­derers. If you've got the money and no hint of a soul, Wolfram & Hart was happy to represent you."

"But then what are you doing here?" Hermione asked. "You and Spike and Wesley. You're helping us, you're doing good. How does that fit with what you described?"

Angel resettled himself in his chair and seemed to be thinking about what to say. After a minute, he said, "I was running a freelance detective agency in Los Angeles. Spent half my time putting out fires that Wolfram & Hart start­ed. Last year – we thought it was the Apocalypse. It might have been. Goddess with big plans started going after Wolfram & Hart. She managed to kill most of the staff of the Los Angeles branch before we stopped her. So, in gratitude –" Angel hunched his shoulders slightly – "we were asked to take over."

Hermione considered this for a moment. "And you said _yes?_"

"I had to," Angel said flatly. "We had to."

"_Why?_"

"Because one of the things we learned is that it takes resources to fight. You can't fight effectively if you can't match your opponents on their turf. Wolfram & Hart offered us the resources. We took them."

Hermione exchanged a look with Remus. His grave expression said that he found this about as plausible as she did, but it wasn't worth pushing the point; whatever the real reason was, Angel was clearly not about to share it with them. _Let him have his secrets_, she thought. _We certainly have ours_.

Lupin stared thoughtfully into his cup of tea, swirling it around and watching the liquid whirl. "So the lab, and the library –"

"– and the _mystical army_," interjected Ginny, shredding the wrapper of her Mars bar.

"– it's all for the benefit of your clients?"

Angel spread his arms in a sardonic gesture. "What our clients want, we give them." His expression turned sour.

Hermione sipped at her coffee, made a face, and kept thinking. "But if you're good," she said, and paused, finishing her thought. "Your clients are evil. So _why_ do you give them what they want?"

Angel shifted in his seat. "We do the good we can where we can do it. Like this. Otherwise . . . well, we're still a business. No cash flow . . ."

"Right. I understand."

"I said once," Angel said, standing, "that nothing we do matters. But – if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do. I got things to do. I'll see you later." He swept out of the canteen in a swirl of black coat and grumpy temper.

Ginny blinked after him. "That thing with the coat, that's impressive, that is."

Hermione picked at her croissant, which still tasted faintly of Pop-Tart, and mused, "I still don't like it."

"Nor do I, Hermione," said Lupin. "But they're willing to help and they've been producing results. I'm certainly not going to refuse Angel's help because he's president of an evil law firm. In times like these, one does what one must."

The three of them sat in silence in the canteen, interrupted only when a young woman in a business suit entered and started dropping coins into the cof­fee machine. "We still have to work on that other Horcrux," Hermione said.

Ginny made a face. "Can it wait? I'd like to go back to Newcastle and freshen up. I hate sleeping in my clothes. I feel all grotty."

"I don't see why not," said Remus. "We know how to destroy the locket."

"We have a working hypothesis," Hermione muttered.

"It's certainly enough to be going on for right now. All right, Hermione? Back to Newcastle?"

"Yes," she said. She too was looking forward to a change of clothes.

"Let's go, then," said Remus, and he stood up from the table.

* * *

Hermione landed in the big farmhouse outside Newcastle to the accompani­ment of her mobile ringing. "Excuse me," she said, dashing to the parlor and digging her mobile out of her purse. "Hello?" 

"Hermione?" Arthur Weasley said, very loud, in her ear.

"Speaking."

"Hermione, it's Arthur. Can you hear me? I'm never quite sure how to use these fellytones . . ."

"It's all right, Mr. Weasley, I can hear you. What do you need?"

"I've been trying to call all morning."

Hermione winced. "I'm sorry, I've been away from my phone."

"No, no, it's all right, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "Don't feel bad. Is Ginny there with you?"

"Yes, she is," Hermione said, stepping to the entry to the parlor and wav­ing to catch Ginny's attention. Ginny hurried over, standing next to Hermio­ne, who tilted the phone away from her ear so Ginny could listen in.

"Oh, good. Ginny? Are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm here," said Ginny.

"Oh, Ginny," Arthur Weasley said, sounding beyond excited. "Your mo­ther wanted me to call. Fleur's had the baby! You're now Aunt Ginny – and you too, Hermione," he added, "you're as good as her Aunt Hermione also."

"Oh, congratulations," Hermione said. "How exciting."

"It's a girl?" Ginny asked.

"She is," said Mr. Weasley. "They've named her Madeleine Aurélie – after Fleur's mother, you know – but George is already calling her Maddy; it's dri­ving Fleur mad. Well –" he chuckled. "You know how she is."

"I do," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"Molly wants you to come see Fleur and the baby this afternoon. She said to tell you, 'I don't care if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself is after them, she can come see her new niece.'"

"Sounds just like Mum," Ginny said with a sigh.

"I hear you sighing, Ginny, but Bill is your brother and Fleur is your sister and you owe it to them both to come visit. I know how you feel about her, but you're still family," Arthur said, with just a touch of chiding in his tone.

"We'll be there this afternoon, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione. "Is it all right if Remus comes with us?"

"Oh, certainly. The more, the merrier. Molly will be happy to cook for you all."

"All right. Take care, Mr. Weasley."

"You too, Hermione. See you this afternoon, Ginny."

"That was Arthur Weasley," Hermione said, hanging up.

"I had gathered," Remus said, standing in the entryway of the parlor. "Fleur has had the baby, and Molly wants us to go see her."

"A girl," Ginny said with some relief. "Finally, I'm not the only one."

"Was it really that bad?" asked Hermione.

"Well, no," said Ginny, "it wasn't that bad with my brothers. But I've got seven cousins, all boys, and about _thirty_ second cousins, and they were all boys too. Family reunions were a nightmare growing up. All my aunties fussing over me all the time. And all I ever wanted to do was play Quidditch with the boys." Ginny looked satisfied. "They can fuss over Maddy instead. It'll make Fleur happy."

"That," said Remus dryly, "it will."

* * *

An hour later they were back at the London office, standing over Slytherin's locket in the training room. Lupin stared mildly down at the locket, obviously controlling the discomfort he felt from being around it. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, feeling uneasy about the whole situation after the disaster that had resulted last time, while Ginny gave the locket the same hard look she gave to anything she regarded as a challenge. 

"Let's start," Lupin said, looking up at Hermione and Ginny. Hermione gladly retreated to the observation room, Ginny in tow, happy to be away from the locket. Whatever Slytherin had done to the locket when he crafted it, it felt _strange_ to be around.

"I've a bad feeling about this," she muttered to Ginny, once they were in the observation room with the doors closed beside them. Ginny glanced over at her, her expression tight, and nodded.

In the training room, Lupin again deliberately paced off the steps separa­ting him from the Horcrux, again paused and breathed in. As his focus turned in­ward, Hermione felt Ginny's hand slipping into hers, the gesture commun­ica­ting both support and the fact that Ginny was also uncomfortable.

Lupin pulled out his wand, leveling it at the Horcrux. His aim steady, and with just the barest scowl on his face, he said, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Green light raced from his wand across the training room. Slytherin's locket was surrounded by a bright viridian glow for a few seconds – but the light faded, leaving the locket intact and unscathed on the ground. "I don't understand," Hermione said, frowning. In the practice room, Lupin turned to her with a puzzled look on his face.

Across the room, the locket started to whistle – and then to vibrate, and then to glow, shining an eye-searingly bright green. "Remus!" Hermione cried, fumbling for the button on the wall that controlled the intercom. "Remus, look out!"

Lupin dove to the ground, shouting a series of shield spells. Hermione, re­membering what had happened the last time they tried to destroy a Horcrux, screwed her eyes shut and stuffed her fingers into her ears. Beside her, she heard Ginny muttering, "_Orbis praesidis. Orbis praesidis._"

With a crack like a gunshot, the Horcrux detonated. Light pierced Hermi­one's eyelids. She tried to close her eyes tighter and found that she couldn't. Ginny swayed on her feet, her shoulder brushing Hermione's elbow.

"Ugh," Ginny said as the light faded. "You can open your eyes now, Her­mione. I'm going to have a headache for _days_."

Hermione opened her eyes and pulled her fingers out of her ears, shaking her head slightly. Ginny was right: her head throbbed with a dull ache that was probably going to resist pain potions. "_Orbis praesidis_?" she asked.

Ginny shrugged. "It was the first one that came to me. Mum taught it to me when I was small."

Nodding slightly, Hermione leaned closer to the glass, looking into the training room. "Oh, no," she said, and she barged through the door into the practice room. Lupin was slumped in an untidy heap on the ground, looking as if he'd been dropped there. Worried, she grumbled, "I _knew_ this was a bad idea."

Ginny hastened out the door of the observation room, kneeling beside Hermione next to Lupin's body. "He's alive," Ginny said, checking his pulse and resting a hand on his chest. "Probably just knocked out."

"He _can't_ be knocked out. We have to go visit your niece this afternoon."

Ginny snorted. "I doubt Maddy is going anywhere soon, Hermione. Fleur's probably enjoying the attention too much."

Hermione scowled, pulled out her wand, pointed it at Remus, and said, "_Rennervate!_ Oh, _bother_. _Experrectus!_"

With a groan, Remus jerked awake. "That," he said after a moment, "was not supposed to happen."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the locket, which lay innocently on the floor of the practice room, intact and undamaged. "It didn't even work."

"Help me up?" he asked. Hermione and Ginny rose to their feet, each grabbing one of Remus's hands and pulling him with them. He brushed at his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles, and gave the locket a perturbed look. "It appears our hypothesis no longer works."

* * *

Wesley greeted the news that their plan had failed rather philosophically. "It was," he said, "only a theory. There are still other materials I can research. I'll start on that this evening." 

With no further business at the Wolfram & Hart office, they were free to Apparate out to the Burrow to see Fleur and the baby. After a quick side trip to Whimsic Alley – the Birmingham wizarding district – for some baby gifts, they traveled to Devon, Ginny grumbling about doing so. As they were walk­ing up the long lane to the Burrow, Ginny said, "It's not that I don't want to see Maddy. I'm new to this auntie thing but I rather like it so far. It's just – _Fleur_. We've never really got on."

"Fleur takes some getting used to," Hermione said diplomatically. "The last time I met her, she seemed to have mellowed out quite a bit."

"Well, you're not related to her," said Ginny. "Do you know what she gave me for Christmas last year? A hot pink chenille jumper. It was _fuzzy_. And _four sizes_ too big." She looked revolted. "Bill told me while we were doing the washing up after dinner that the first he saw of it was when I unwrapped it. He slipped me ten Galleons so I could buy something decent at Madam Mal­kin's."

"What'd you do with the jumper?"

Ginny snorted and looked pleased with herself. "Transfigured it into a potted plant and gave it to her for her birthday."

Hermione giggled. Remus, on her other side, chuckled quietly. The three of them worked their way through the front garden of the Burrow, dodging chickens, wellies and nastily cackling gnomes, until they stood before the front door. "Everyone ready?" Remus asked, one eyebrow impishly arched.

Tugging at her jumper, Hermione nodded, and Ginny said, "As I'll ever be."

"Here we go, then," said Remus, and he knocked on the door. A few sec­onds later, it was opened by Bill Weasley himself, who looked both exhausted and if he'd taken several doses of Pepper-Up Potion followed by a bag of Fiz­zing Whizbees.

Bill beamed at them, scars crinkling on his face, and said gleefully, "She's here!"

"So we've heard," said Remus.

Opening the door wider, Bill said, "Come in! Mum'll be happy to see you – she baked about twelve loaves of bread last night while we were waiting and now she says they've got to go somewhere."

Hermione followed Remus in the door, Ginny behind her. As she stepped in, out of the corner of her eye she saw Ginny briefly mime lifting up her skirts as if preparing for a formal curtsey and had to suppress snickers.

Inside the Burrow, things were unusually quiet. A strong smell of bread hung in the air. Arthur Weasley sat by the Wizarding Wireless, peeling a sat­suma and frowning intently at the speaker. He looked up briefly, smiling at them, and then went back to listening. Char­lie and George played a subdued game of Exploding Snap; both of them waved carefully hello, not wanting to disturb the cards. "Fleur and Mad­dy are asleep," Bill said, as if answering an unasked question.

"Bill?" Molly Weasley's voice floated out from the kitchen. "Who is it?"

"Remus, Mum," Bill said. "And he brought Hermione and Ginny with him."

"Oh . . . Ginny!" Molly stormed out of the kitchen, wearing an expression that told Hermione _exactly_ why Ron often thought of his mother as a sabre-toothed tiger. Ginny froze, looking as if her imminent death was inevitable, and Hermione saw Charlie and Fred share an amused and sympathetic covert glance. Remus went to sit on the sofa, and Hermione followed him.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley said. "I've been so _worried!_ All this bother with You-Know-Who and Death Eaters – and you weren't at that raid, they said you'd been _hurt_ –"

"Mum," said Ginny, "I spent two days in the Hogwarts infirmary. Madam Pomfrey fixed me up, like she always does. I'm _fine_."

Hermione frowned and made a note to herself to ask Ginny what exactly it was that had happened to her.

"You might have been _killed_."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I might have been killed every time I played Quid­ditch, but you never objected to that."

"Well, that was Quidditch – but still, Ginny! You're my baby girl –"

"I'm twenty-two!"

"You will _always_ be my baby girl, and if there's one thing a mother does, it's worry about her baby. Can't you be more careful out there, Ginny?"

Ginny looked down. "I'll try, Mum."

Molly Weasley surveyed her only daughter with a critical eye. "You don't look well. Are you eating right?" Without waiting for an answer, she added, "Well, come on then, have some bread. I've got plenty."

"Told you so," muttered Bill.

Stomach grumbling, Hermione remembered her less-than-satisfying break­fast and said, "I'll have some bread, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, Hermione." Molly gave her a kindly look. "You're welcome to it. You too, Remus, come on. Enough for everyone."

"Watch you," George whispered, once his mother was out of earshot. "She'll be sending it home with you next. You'll never be rid of it."

"Shut it," Ginny hissed back at him, and she followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.

After a few minutes of bustle, Hermione, Ginny, Lupin and Bill ended up seated at the kitchen table, each with about half a loaf of bread stacked before them. Remus seemed more interested in stirring sugar into his cup of tea, while Ginny had toasted her bread in the Weasleys' ancient and dangerous toaster (it had a tendency to breathe fire) and was now slathering it with butter. Her­mione spread a slice of her bread with currant jam and – because she knew Ginny wouldn't – said, "Tell us about Maddy."

Bill took a long drink from his cup of tea. "Well," he said, "Fleur and I were actually at dinner when the contractions started last night, so we finished up our meal and then came over here, like we'd worked out with Mum a few months ago. It took a while, but Maddy arrived safely around seven this morn­ing. Seven pounds, nineteen inches, bald as a Bludger."

Hermione smiled. "She sounds adorable."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that yet," said Bill, with a mischievious look. "She's got a pair of lungs on her like her grandmother."

Ginny snorted into her pumpkin juice.

"William!" said his mother.

"Did you think I meant you, Mum?" Bill said, grinning. "I meant Fleur's mum, Madame Delacour. _Maman_ can be heard for miles on a clear night."

"Oh, hush," Molly Weasley said, but her stern look melted into an af­fec­tionate smile. "I'm going to go check on my granddaughter now."

"I don't think Maddy really needs anything," said Bill after Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs. "Mum just likes the phrase 'my granddaughter'."

"Too right she does," Charlie said from the other room. "She keeps asking me when I'm going to 'settle down and stop messing about with those drag­ons.' I've been getting letters since she found out Fleur was pregnant." Pitching his voice so it wouldn't carry, he said in a high voice, "'You're thirty-one years old, Charles Weasley, it won't kill you to take a responsible job and find a nice girlfriend –'"

"Your Mum impression needs work," said George.

"Like to see you do better."

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley. Not long after that, there was the sound of a muffled explosion and George's laughter.

"Did everything go all right?" Lupin asked, giving Bill a serious look.

"It did," said Bill. "Fleur and I had agreed to come here instead of St. Mungo's for the birth months ago. Mum's a midwife and Fleur hates hospitals, so it was easy to talk her into it."

"Plus St. Mungo's is stuffed full of Death Eaters," Ginny said darkly.

"I don't think they would have given _us_ too much trouble," said Bill, shrugging. "Voldemort knows I'm a muckety-muck at Gringotts, and he needs the goblins' cooperation or he's got no funding. It might have been a problem getting you three in the door, though, since I think the Death Eaters have orders to shoot you on sight."

Ginny made a sarcastically self-congratulating gesture.

"Anyway, we're safe enough here," Bill said. "The house is warded and all of us are good with a wand. If Voldemort did show up, I doubt he'd make it past Mum anyway."

Hermione heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to look at the door. Molly Weasley came through, carrying a small blanket-wrapped bundle and cooing, "And who's this? Oh, here's Daddy, and your Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione, and Mr. Lupin. We'll just say hello to your Aunt Ginny, won't we, Maddy? Yes, we will, but only for a bit. Here you go, Ginny. Hold your arms out." Molly had worked her way around the table and now stood next to Gin­ny, who extended her arms after a moment of looking alarmed. Mrs. Weasley care­fully settled the baby into Ginny's arms, adjusting Maddy's blan­ket. Mad­dy, for her part, turned her head and wriggled a bit.

"Careful, Ginny," Bill said, smiling at her. "That's my daughter you've got there. Don't drop her."

Ginny shot him an exasperated and amused glance. "Thanks, Bill. I grew out of the klutzy stage years ago." She bobbled the baby gently, turning her so Hermione could see. Maddy opened her eyes, giving Hermione a solemn stare before yawning widely.

"She's adorable," said Hermione, who privately thought that Maddy looked rather like every other newborn she'd ever seen, but recognized that this was not something one said to a new father.

"She has the Weasley nose, though," Arthur Weasley said, coming into the kitchen. "I've learned to recognize it on a baby."

"Fleur is aghast," said Bill. "She'd been hoping to pass on the Delacour nose. According to her, her nose is elegant. Mine is just long." He smiled. "Maddy has Fleur's eyes, though."

"There's nothing wrong with the Weasley nose," said Arthur. "It's a fine and proud nose."

"It's also," said Ginny, "long." Maddy waved an arm, fussing slightly, and Ginny turned to her mother. "Here, Mum. You hold her for a bit."

"I'll hold her," said Bill. "She might be a little hungry. I'll take her up to Fleur in a titch." Molly carried the baby around to him and he settled Maddy into the crook of an arm.

"Look at you," Ginny said, her tone both teasing and admiring. "You al­most look like you know what you're doing."

"You forget, little sister, that I was ten years old when you were born," Bill said, arching an eyebrow at Ginny. "Old enough to change your diapers. Which I did." He gave Ginny a significant look, and then turned to his father. "How'd the game go?"

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Well, Chudley tried, they did, but –"

"Lost again, huh, Dad?" Charlie said from the other room.

"Flattened," Arthur said sadly. "420 to 10, and that one was a fluke. The Keeper sneezed as Stevens made the throw."

"You really ought to try supporting a team that isn't total rubbish," said Charlie.

"Charlie supports the Tornadoes," Ginny muttered to Hermione. "They'll argue about this for hours now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She'd never been able to cultivate a taste for Quidditch, despite being friends with half the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts. She warmed up her mug of coffee with a quick tap of her wand and settled in for a long and boring argument.

* * *

Much later, the three of them left the Burrow, each loaded down with a loaf of Molly Weasley's bread. Fleur had woken not long after the argument over Quidditch had erupted, and after she was finished nursing Maddy, Hermione, Remus and Ginny had presented her with their gifts for Maddy. (Hermione's was a baby blanket charmed always to keep the baby at the most comfortable temperature.) Molly had then insisted that they stay for dinner – Hermione, thinking of the dismal Wolfram & Hart canteen, was happy to agree. 

Remus stopped at the gate to the front garden, which marked the boun­dary of the Anti-Apparation wards, and said thoughtfully, "We'll have to tell Percy."

"I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow," Ginny said. "Preparation for the Fidelius. I'll tell him then." She shook her head. "This has been quite a weekend for new family members. A sister-in-law and a nephew on Saturday, and now a niece today. I half-expect Mum to sit me down and tell me I've some sis­ter or brother I never knew about next."

"Not a conversation I would ever want to take part in." Lupin opened the gate. "Back to London." He stepped through the gate, spun, and disappeared. Hermione took five steps beyond the edge of the ward – elementary Appari­tion safety – and then started the turn . . .

She reappeared in the Wolfram & Hart lobby, shortly followed by Ginny. Wesley, walking by with an armful of books, jumped. "Useful, if startling," he said. "It's not the sudden appearance that bothers me. It's the noise."

Hermione shrugged apologetically. "It can't be helped. Have you found anything?"

"I'll let you know when I do," Wesley said crisply, and he vanished into his office.

"Are we staying here again?" Ginny asked, lowering her voice.

Remus turned. "I thought we might. It's certainly convenient, and the rest of the team is already here." Hermione opened her mouth and he put up a hand, forestalling her. "I know Arthur Weasley warned us about com­ing back to London. But there's value in hiding in plain sight, and frankly, I think even the Death Eaters would have a hard time cracking this place."

Ginny made a face. "I'm not sleeping in my clothes another night. If we're staying here, I'm moving my kit from Newcastle."

"Fair enough," said Lupin. "We've been in Newcastle long enough; it's probably best to move on. All right, Hermione?"

"Well, all right," she said. "I just feel a bit odd staying in London. Hiding in plain sight, I know, I know. It's still odd."

"Well," Ginny said. "At least we're staying somewhere posh this time."

* * *

A quiet few days passed with the team holed up in Wolfram & Hart. Hermi­one did her best to help Wesley research the question of how to destroy Hor­cruxes. Unfortunately, she wasn't as much help as she wanted to be. She could read almost any English text written from the fourteenth century onwards, but not a word of Greek or Latin, and most of what Wesley was turning up was in either of those two languages. Eventually, with Wesley's permission, she started simply browsing the stacks, looking for interesting things to read. 

Remus and Ginny spent most of Tuesday doing the final preparations for the Fidelius Charm on Percy Weasley's home, most of Wednesday morning actually performing the Charm, and most of Wednesday night recovering from the Charm. The Fidelius Charm was enormously complicated, involving charms, po­tions, and a small bit of blood sacrifice. Several years ago, Hermione had been part of the team that sealed Harry into Grimmauld Place and cast the Fidelius Charm upon the house. She hadn't been much good for anything for ab­out a day afterward.

The Wolfram & Hart team kept busy, too. Angel stormed around much of the time with a mobile phone clamped to his ear, dealing with some crisis or another that had erupted back in Los Angeles. Hermione heard him every time she passed through the lobby, stomping back and forth in his borrowed of­fice and shouting things like, "Dammit, Morrigan, of course we're not ac­cepting that counteroffer, we'd go broke in two weeks if we did" and "Tell them that if this isn't settled by the time I come back, heads are going to roll and I mean that literally".

Spike coped with the downtime by doing what he did best, which ap­peared to be annoy everyone. He descended upon Wesley and Hermione in the library, sticking around until Wesley threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't stop reading books aloud, replacing key phrases with rude words in a sort of obscene game of Mad Libs. During one of her visits to the canteen, Hermione overheard a group of para­legals dis­cussing a number of crude stick figure drawings that had mysteriously showed up in the copyroom and knew immediately who was responsible.

As bad as it was to have Spike loitering in the library, having Illyria around was worse. Illyria gave Hermione the collywobbles, what with the strange eyes and hair and the unblinking stare and the random creepy pronouncements. It gave off the impression of a volcano, dormant but not controlled, and it made Hermi­one's skin crawl. Nor did she like the effect Illyria had on Wesley: he was by turns scornful and patient when speaking to it, all his actions underlaid with a certain gloomy desperation, and at times she caught him staring at it like a dying man.

They were stuck with Illyria, though. Wesley explained _sotto voce_ that he had a responsibility to keep an eye on it and answer its questions about hu­manity, and in return it wouldn't go on violent killing sprees whenever it felt like it. Hermione was all in favor of preventing violent killing sprees, but at the same time, she wasn't exactly fond of spending two hours debating philosophy with an elder god.

For that was what Illyria wanted to discuss. It had opened the discussion one morning, greeting them with the question, "Is Voldemort evil?"

"Yes," Hermione said, unhesitatingly.

Illyria tilted its head to one side. "Why?"

"Why?" repeated Hermione. "Because he _is_. He's a tyrant and murderer who's keen on world domination and the genocide of all non-magical people. Have you been paying attention when I've talked about these things?"

"Am I evil, then?" Illyria said, fixing its gaze on Hermione. "When I was king, none could hope to match my power. I slaughtered thousands if it pleased me to do so and I held dominion over millions. Am I evil?"

Hermione hesitated, but Wesley said, ". . . No."

"Why? I have committed the same crimes as this fool Voldemort and I have committed them on a scale he will never even dream of. By the witch-wo­man's logic, I am evil. Why am I not, Wesley?"

"Because –" Wesley paused and then seemed to stumble over his words. "You want to change. You _can_ change." He looked down, focusing intently on the book opened before him. "You can be redeemed. Voldemort cannot."

Illyria seemed to be processing this information. Hermione turned to her book, sure it had lapsed back into its silent mode, when it said, "Redemption. Such a small, pithy, human conceit."

"You do not want it?" Wesley asked, his tone going sharp.

"I wish to learn to abide. I am _all_ that abides," Illyria said enigmatically.

Wesley snapped, "I haven't forgotten."

"But you would forgive."

"It's complicated."

Hermione was by now hopelessly lost and hating it. She made a mental note reminding herself that she _really_ needed to talk to Wesley about just what Illyria was, and acknowledged in the same thought that he was probably never going to tell her.

Illyria looked away, as if thinking. "Voldemort is evil, and must be killed. You spoke of a prophecy foretelling his death." It turned, tilting its head quiz­zically at Hermione. "Why have you not killed him before now?'

"Because we _couldn't_," Hermione said. "With the Horcruxes intact, Vol­de­mort's indestructible. Not to mention that the prophecy is clear: there is only one person who actually _can_ kill Voldemort, and he's been ill for years. Last, there's the small matter of the fact that we don't know where Voldemort _is_. It's not like we can send assassins after him and be done with it."

A thoughtful look briefly crossed Illyria's face, disappearing quickly. Her­mione frowned, waiting for it to respond, but Illyria seemed content to lapse into silence. Shaking her head, Hermione went back to puzzling her way through her stack of research materials.

* * *

By Thursday afternoon, the cabin fever was starting to settle in. Ginny sug­ges­ted going to search for the third Horcrux, which appeared to be somewhere in Nottinghamshire. Hermione pointed out that there wasn't much point in go­ing after another Horcrux when they didn't know what to do with the one they still had. They dragged Remus into Wesley's unoccupied office in order to discuss the issue with him, and Hermione was detailing exactly how little in­for­mation she'd been able to find in the Wolfram & Hart library when the phone rang. 

Lupin picked up the handset. "Hello?" He blinked and held the handset out to Hermione. "It's for you."

She took the handset, tugging at the cord. "This is Hermione Granger," she said, putting it to her ear.

"There's someone here to see you, Miss Granger," said the receptionist.

"I'll be right there. Thank you." Hermione frowned, handing the phone back to Lupin so he could hang it up.

Ginny blinked at her. "What was that?"

"Someone here to see me, apparently. Come on." Hermione led the way out of the office, with Remus and Ginny following behind her. She stepped out into the main lobby and then stopped in total confusion.

Neville Longbottom stood there in the lobby, his hands in the pockets of his robes, staring around in bewilderment.

"_Neville_?" Hermione said, hurrying over to him. "Neville, what are you do­ing here?"

He spun around. "Hermione! Where are we? What are you doing here?"

"It's a law firm. This is where Angel, Spike and Wesley are from. Never mind that, though. What are _you_ doing here? How did you find us?"

"Took a cab," Neville said sheepishly. "I had to talk to you."

"You could have just rung me."

Neville shook his head. "It was important that I see you in person. Her­mi­one –" He hesitated, taking a breath before he continued.

"Hermione, Harry's better. He's asking to talk to you."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Please forgive my _very_ dodgy "Ancient Greek". A certain amount of improvisation was needed. 

Reviews: like chocolate only better. I do have a request -- if you feel like reviewing this story, would you please mention how you found it? It's mainly for curiosity's sake, I admit, and not any sort of requirement or anything. I'm just interested in hearing how people get here.

I will try to have the next update up before the end of the spring semester. It's a long ways away, I know, and I apologize, but I'm not sure what time I'll have for writing this semester. I'm already fairly snowed under. I do know that come hell or high water, _Endlong into Midnight_ will be completed by July 20, 2007. Thank you, Jo, for giving me a deadline.

Next time on _Endlong into Midnight_: Hermione and Harry have their first rational conversation in four years. Wesley makes a discovery, and the team goes after the third Horcrux.

I thank everyone for their patience. See you in a few months . . .


	8. The Tree of the Lost

**Author's Notes**: And the full Chapter 8 finally makes its appearance, hideously late. My sincerest apologies for the delay; if it's any consolation, I've made like NBC and supersized the chapter somewhat.

This would not have gotten done without the help of my super-fabulous beta-reading team: **powerof3**, **live4love** and **bk4ev3r**. I admit to also having played a lot of Tetris on my Nintendo to relax my brain while I worked out plot points.

For **Pandora of Ithilien**, **grangerinvestigations**, **theMeH**, and **Natasha Shaitanova**; special thanks to **Pandora**, **grangerinvestigations**, and **pstibbons** for their comments on the cookie version of this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eight  
_The Tree of the Lost_

Over Neville's weak protests, Remus and Ginny went to Grimmauld Place with Hermione. Neville seemed to be protesting for form's sake, anyway; he pointed out that Harry had asked for Hermione specifically, but looked relieved when Ginny declared that she didn't give a toss about what Harry wanted, she was coming along.

The four of them landed in the courtyard of Grimmauld Place at more or less the same time. Neville went ahead to unlock the front door of Number 12, but Hermione hung back. Ginny came to stand beside her, rubbing her arms against the cold, watching Neville fuss with the complicated locking mechanism.

"I'm afraid," Hermione said quietly. "He's been my friend for half my life, and I'm afraid to talk to him."

"Afraid that he'll be angry at you?"

"Is that in doubt? This is Harry. Of course he's angry at me." She paused, swallowed, looked at the ground. "I'm afraid he hates me."

"He has a right to."

Sharply, Hermione said, "You weren't dropping by weekly yourself."

"No," said Ginny, "I wasn't." She elbowed Hermione slightly. "Come on. Neville has the door open."

Hermione sighed, nervously adjusted her jumper, and trailed Ginny to the front door of Number 12. Lupin followed them in, shutting and locking the door behind him. Stalling for time, Hermione looked around the entrance hall; it looked better than it had even last week. Nothing could change the gloomy atmosphere of the old house, but Neville had cleaned out the discarded papers and other debris from Harry's long time alone and scrubbed away much of the general filth coating Grimmauld Place. The damage to the paneling, all the words messily carved into or inked onto the wood, had been erased. The entrance hall was still dingy, true – it would have put Molly Weasley into an apoplectic fit to see what had become of all her careful cleaning – but it was back to livable condition.

"Do you think he knows we're here?" asked Ginny.

"It wouldn't hurt to let him know," Lupin said. "He probably heard us come in, but you know Harry as well as I do."

"He'll wait for us to confront him," Hermione said grimly. It was a tactical move: making her look for him meant that he controlled the ground for their confrontation. It was really the last thing she felt like doing right now, confronting Harry, but he'd asked to see her and staying away would do nothing to assuage her guilty conscience.

Still, she felt dread coalescing in the pit of her stomach. Harry tended to vent his emotions by screaming loudly enough to shake dust from the ceiling, and Hermione hated being shouted at. If his anger had been unjustified – like the tantrum that resulted from his conviction that people were avoiding him because he was tainted by Voldemort – she might have been able to deal with it, but in this case, his rage was completely justified. _I'm afraid that he hates me_, she had said to Ginny, and she admitted with a sick feeling in her gut that actually, she _expected_ him to hate her.

Hermione agitatedly ran a hand through her tangled hair and called, "Harry? Harry, it's Hermione. I'm here." She heard the quaver in her own voice and winced. She meant to sound strong and confident, like the grown woman she was, but she sounded anxious and scared, like the teenage girl she used to be.

The house was silent around her. She swallowed, clearing her throat slightly, and tried again, raising her voice. "Harry? I came, like you asked me to. Here I am."

Far up in the house, a door slammed. So Harry was taking the initiative and coming to them, instead of making them search Grimmauld Place for him. Hermione bit her lip. It meant nothing good. Beside her, Ginny seemed ready for a fight, while Remus stood placidly, maintaining his calm. On Ginny's other side, Neville leaned against the wall, repeatedly crossing and uncrossing his arms.

In a rush of stomping feet, Harry appeared at the top of the stairs to the first floor. His eyes ticked back and forth between Hermione, Ginny and Remus and he scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hermione."

"I'm here, Harry. Whatever you want to talk about, I'm here."

Harry moved down a few steps on the staircase, as if he wanted to stand closer to her but didn't want to surrender the psychological advantage of the high ground. He fell silent again, glowering at Hermione. The level of tension in the room, already high, notched higher.

"Excuse me," Neville muttered. "I have to –" He bolted for one of the ground floor drawing rooms. Hermione suppressed a grim smile, unable to blame him.

Harry continued to glare at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus move a step closer to her. Ginny stepped toward Harry, tossing her hair. "Harry . . ." she said.

He ignored Ginny, continuing to focus on Hermione. She felt herself wincing and forced herself to stand up straight. Finally, Harry thumped down a few more steps and said, "Neville says it's 2004."

"It is."

"What have I missed? What did I miss while you had me locked in here?"

"Harry . . ." Hermione said feebly, echoing Ginny.

"Don't." He clomped down the stairs until he was standing on the last step. "I lost four years because of you, Hermione. Four years of my life, gone."

"I'm _sorry_," she said, her throat constricting. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I could have been out there fighting, doing what I'm supposed to do – but _no_. You walled me in here and then you threw away the key."

"It was for your own _safety_. And it worked. You're here, and you're alive –"

"Safe?" Harry jumped from the stairs, landing five feet from her. He flung his arms wide, and even though his skin was unnaturally pale, she could see the scars running up his arms, paler on white. "Oh, I've been _safe_. And _mad_. And _alone_. I don't remember much of the past _four years_, but I certainly don't remember _you_ visiting."

"There were –"

"'Oh, Harry, it'll be all right, I'll be by all the time,'" he said, putting on a squeaky girlish voice. It actually sounded remarkably like Dolores Umbridge. "'It's just temporary, Harry, just for a little bit, just until Voldemort calls off the dogs.' _Rubbish!_" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his denims and started to pace. "Lies. You didn't come. Too busy with the Order? More important things to do?"

His eyes slid from her to Lupin then. Hermione didn't think she was imagining the maliciously knowing look on Harry's face. She wound one hand in the fabric of her skirt and tried to keep her breathing steady. "No," she said, voice trembling, "it wasn't that –"

"What was it then? Tell me! Why did you leave me? What were you doing that you couldn't come visit?"

"I was _researching_ – I was looking for a way to stop Voldemort, a way to find the Horcruxes –"

"In the library again, then." Harry snorted. "I should have guessed. Whenever there's trouble, Hermione runs for the library."

"I'm _sorry_, Harry!" Hermione said desperately. "I'm really sorry! It's just – things were so bad, and you weren't well – I didn't know what else to do! It wasn't doing any good to fight, we weren't making any headway, and too many people were getting killed – so I went looking for help –"

"And that was more important than me?"

Hermione, close to tears, sputtered, "No!"

Beside her, Ginny had clearly had enough. Bristling, she took a step toward Harry and snapped, "Don't be daft. Of course finding a way to _end_ all this was more important than you were."

Harry rounded on Ginny. "I don't remember _you_ coming to visit much, either. You have _no right_ to defend her –"

"I _couldn't_ come," Ginny said, voice throbbing with anger. "I did, for the first couple years, but you stopped recognizing me. You _threw things_ at me, told me to get out –"

"You should have come anyway."

"It _hurt_ seeing you like that. I couldn't stand it."

"So you just _left_ me."

Breathing heavily, Ginny said, "Yes, Harry, I just left you! You threatened to kill me the next time you saw me, so I left you. You may not remember it, but I certainly do."

Harry turned away. "So much for all that stuff you said after Lepping."

"Don't you dare," said Ginny, voice low. "Don't you even dare. I love you. I will always love you. You should know better –"

"How? How was I supposed to know?"

"Harry, I –" Hermione stammered.

"_What?_"

"I never – _I never meant for any of this to happen!_" she cried, and annoyed herself by bursting into tears.

Harry gave her an incredulous and disgusted look. "You never meant for any of this to happen? YOU LEFT ME!" he howled. "YOU LOCKED ME IN, YOU TOLD ME IT WAS FOR MY OWN GOOD, AND THEN YOU ABANDONED ME! WHAT DID YOU _EXPECT_ TO HAPPEN?"

"Not this," she whispered.

"OH, OF COURSE NOT THIS. BECAUSE PERFECT HERMIONE GRANGER NEVER PLANS FOR ANYTHING _BAD_ TO HAPPEN. ALL HER PLANS ALWAYS GO PERFECTLY BECAUSE SHE'S _SO_ MUCH SMARTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE –"

"I don't think that!"

"– AND ALL HER PLANS ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE'S. LET'S LOCK HARRY IN A MUSTY OLD PILE TO KEEP HIM SAFE. NEVER MIND THAT HE'S GOING MAD, AS LONG AS HE'S SAFE, THAT'S WHAT MATTERS. ALL HARRY DOES IS GET US INTO TROUBLE, MIGHT AS WELL GET HIM OUT OF THE WAY –"

"Harry, stop!"

He carried on, pacing back and forth, either ignoring her or past hearing her. "– CAN'T HAVE HIM AROUND MUCKING UP THINGS AND FIGHTING VOLDEMORT, NO, TOO BUSY MOURNING MY DEAD BOYFRIEND BY MAKING GOO-GOO EYES AT –"

Hermione fumbled for her wand, pointed it at Harry. "_Aequitas!_"

A streak of lilac light zipped out of her wand and hit him in the chest. He stopped pacing momentarily, tirade breaking off mid-word, a woozy expression spreading across his face. Then he frowned, growled, "_No_," and shook himself, throwing off the Calming Charm by an act of will. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me ever again."

"We can't talk to you when you're angry like this, Harry!" Hermione wailed.

"I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, I WANT YOU TO _LISTEN_ TO ME!" Harry shouted, face contorting. "There you go again, thinking you know what's best for everyone around you. You don't! You don't know anything, Hermione!"

She recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Harry ran one hand through his hair, which was already standing wildly in all directions, and shoved at his glasses. "Do you even realize what you did to me?" he demanded.

"I've said I'm sorry, Harry!"

"_That's not enough!_"

"What do you want me to do, then? What _is_ enough?"

"I don't know! I want you to – I DON'T KNOW! Dammit!" Harry kicked the bottom step of the staircase to the first floor, paused, seemed to be thinking, and then kicked it again. The hall was quiet for a few moments as Harry paced back and forth, eyeing Hermione from underneath his shaggy hair. _He's planning another line of attack_, she thought, and wiped tears away, trying to regain her control.

Very calmly and reasonably, Remus said, "Why don't we all go to the kitchen, have some tea, and discuss this like adults?"

Harry whirled around, eyes flashing. "I don't want to talk to you about _anything_. You let _her_ do this to me."

"Hermione was not the only person who made that decision, Harry, nor was I."

"_Rot_," Harry said savagely. "It was her idea. You wouldn't hardly come out of your flat for months after Tonks was murdered. Everyone knows Hermione made all your decisions for you."

"It wasn't Hermione's idea."

Harry made a rather rude gesture.

A hard expression settled over Lupin's face. "That's enough, Harry. There are things you need to know. If you want out of this 'musty old pile', you will come down to the kitchen with us and listen to what we have to say so you won't be a liability to us when you _do_ leave. Elsewise, you are more than welcome to stay in here until you feel up to talking to us. Which will it be?"

From the sulky expression on Harry's face, Hermione guessed he was giving it some serious consideration.

"This way, Hermione, Ginny," said Lupin, heading for the stairs to the basement kitchen. Hermione bit her lip and followed after him. She was at the first landing when she heard Ginny say, "Well?"

Hermione paused and half-turned, looking back up the stairs behind her. Ginny had stopped at the top of the stairs, giving Harry an imperious look. Hermione couldn't see Harry, but he must have made a face in reply, because Ginny snorted. "Don't be thick. Come on."

"All _right_," Harry said loudly, moving toward the stairs. Hermione smothered a smile and continued down the stairs into the kitchen. _People accuse_ me _of being bossy. Ginny's as bossy as her mother and no one ever notices_.

Remus had his head in one of the kitchen cabinets when Hermione entered the kitchen. "I can't find the teapot," he said, sounding slightly muffled.

"You'll have to conjure one," Harry said, thumping into the kitchen and scowling. "I smashed it years ago."

"Mmm." Lupin slipped his wand out of his sleeve. A series of small twirls later, he had conjured a simple white bone china tea set; with another wave of his wand, he started handing round cups. Hermione accepted hers gratefully and took a seat at the scrubbed wooden table.

"Sugar?" she asked.

Sullen, Harry said, "Smashed that too."

Hermione pursed her lips briefly and took a sip from her teacup.

All bad attitude, Harry dropped into a chair and pulled his teacup over in front of him. Lupin brought the teapot and his own cup over and regarded Harry gravely for a moment. "I do owe you an apology," he said. "We failed you badly. Hermione meant what she said when she told you we never intended for any of this to happen."

Harry muttered something that sounded to Hermione suspiciously like "fat lot of good that does me."

"We intended," Lupin continued, "for you to be in here no more than a few months. We thought we might be able to gain the upper hand on Voldemort by the end of the year, and we made quite a bit of progress over the summer – but then there was the Azkaban breakout . . . Malfoy came to power at the Ministry and we lost the assistance of the Aurors. We had moles who reported that you were a primary target – 'kill him by any means necessary' was the exact phrase Voldemort used, if I'm remembering correctly."

Harry shifted in his seat. "I remember all this – sort of. You told me this before."

"I want to make it clear to you what we were dealing with. It doesn't make what happened right, but I want you to understand. After Scrimgeour was assassinated, all our priorities changed. We had to start playing the long game. You were –" Lupin looked uncomfortable. "– slipping. I asked people to drop by and check on you. I don't know why or when they stopped coming by. I suppose after a while everyone simply assumed someone else was responsible for visiting. I regret it, Harry. You needed us, and we weren't there for you. This could all have been avoided if I'd been more careful."

"Dumbledore would never have just left me. He'd have come by every week to check on me."

Remus had evidently been expecting Harry to say something along these lines. He managed to keep his face and voice calm as he said, "I have never claimed to be the wizard Albus Dumbledore was." Hermione remembered the last time she had heard him say that, after her thoughtless remark during the fighting at Stockbridge Main, and grimaced. It was still a sensitive spot for Lupin, being compared to his predecessor as head of the Order of the Phoenix. She had spoken without thinking out of anger, but judging from the expression on Harry's face, he had made the comparison deliberately.

"You asked what had happened since you were locked in here," said Lupin. "How much do you know?"

"Not bloody enough. Neville's told me some things. The Order's been mostly useless for years now. You haven't managed to do anything significant against Voldemort and people keep getting killed. Good job."

"That's changing," Hermione said.

Harry frowned. "Neville said something about that. There's some Muggles working with you to find the Horcruxes."

"We've managed to find two already." Lupin took a drink of his tea and grimaced slightly. "We've destroyed one of them."

Hermione could see Harry becoming interested against his will. "Which ones?"

"An heirloom brooch that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. That's the one we destroyed. We've also managed to retrieve Salazar Slytherin's locket."

Harry gave Remus a piercing look. "Silver? Fancy? Bit snaky?"

"That's the one," Ginny said.

"It looks like the one from sixth year, the one you and Dumbledore found," added Hermione. "I recognized it when I saw it. It was here in Grimmauld Place, remember, fifth year?"

"Didn't Sirius throw it out?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Kreacher must have salvaged it," answered Lupin. "Neither Sirius nor I could keep watch over him all the time."

"And then Fletcher stole it after Sirius died." Harry made a fist, slammed his hand on the table. "Why didn't I think of it? If it was here – R.A.B. This is the _Black_ house. There's only one recent Black whose name starts with _R_ on that tapestry upstairs – _Regulus_, Sirius's brother. He told me about him once. He was a Death Eater."

Hermione frowned. It certainly explained why she'd never been able to find the right sort of R.A.B. in the Hogwarts library. "What's the _A_ stand for, then?"

Remus rubbed his forehead. "Regulus's middle name was Alphard. After their uncle. Sirius's mother regretted it later." Hermione looked at him questioningly and he waved one hand slightly. "I knew Regulus a bit at Hogwarts. I met him first when I came to visit Sirius over the summer holiday one year. He was a few years younger than Sirius. A Slytherin, of course – Sirius was the only Black who wasn't one – but not a bad sort, really, aside from his blind spot about blood purity, same as the rest of the Blacks. Sirius never thought much of him. He always referred to Regulus as his 'daft little brother'." He looked reflective. "I never could figure how he'd ended up a Death Eater. He had the views, but he didn't have the nerve. I suppose, in the end, he did."

Harry scowled. "What else has been going on?"

Hermione glanced at Remus, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged fractionally. After all these years, they could read each other's expressions like the pages of a book. _What_ hasn't _been going on?_ his expression said, and also _He should know._ She tilted her head to one side. _Of course. Will you tell him or shall I?_

"Voldemort's noticed what we've been doing," said Lupin. "He has both the Death Eaters and the Aurors –"

"Aren't those the same thing?"

"– yes, well, he has both of them out looking for us. A number of Death Eaters staged a cleansing on Stockbridge Main last week. We tried to defend the village. There were some casualties."

"Who?" demanded Harry.

Lupin's face was drawn as he said, "Laura Madley. William Summers."

Harry frowned, obviously trying to put faces to the names.

"Hannah Abbott. Ernie Macmillan. . . . Luna Lovegood."

Harry's face went stricken and then angry. Hermione sympathized; she had always thought of Luna as a bit of a joke – which was, in retrospect, totally unfair to Luna, who had been sharp and perceptive under the dotty exterior – but had still been deeply upset over her death. Harry had been much closer to Luna than she had, not as close as Neville, but . . .

_Neville_. Neville, who had dated Luna for two years after leaving Hogwarts. Neville, who had remained close to his ex-girlfriend. Neville, who had been locked inside Grimmauld Place during the fight at Stockbridge Main. "Remus," she said, terrible suspicion forming a weight in her stomach.

He gave her an inquisitive look. "Hermione?"

"When you were doing your . . . notifications, _did you tell Neville?_"

Lupin closed his eyes. "No."

Harry's gaze ticked back and forth between the two of them. "Haven't you two made a dog's breakfast of things. Of course, I wouldn't expect anything else," he said, eyes flicking to Lupin. "This is why we don't let Hermione make the plans. Things never go like they're supposed to – do they, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned as she found herself blinking back tears again. It wasn't _right_ to hear Harry like this. His sense of humor veered toward the sarcastic, certainly, and he had a worrying mean streak that flared up at times of stress. Harry carried his anger like a spear and always had. But the outright cruelty – he had never been _vicious_ like this, not even at his worst. It was as if Harry had received a personality transplant from Severus Snape.

"That will be enough," Lupin said, voice steely. "I was the one who forgot to notify Neville, not Hermione. I understand your anger with her, Harry, but you cannot hold her accountable for the actions of everyone around her. If you want to rage at someone, rage at me."

"Or me," said Ginny. She gave Hermione a sheepish look. "I can take it."

_You can't, at least not right now_ went unsaid. Hermione couldn't decide if she was grateful or annoyed.

"I understand that you need to deal with your anger, to process it and let it out," Lupin continued. "But there is a time and a place for that and right now is neither of those. Right now you need to focus on managing your anger, and you'll start by keeping a civil tongue in your head when speaking to either Hermione or myself. If you can't control yourself and work effectively with the rest of the team, you won't leave this house. I need to know that you won't jeopardize us all in the field by giving in to your emotions."

Harry looked as if he'd rather rip out his tongue than keep it civil. Hermione swallowed. He had _never_ been this angry with her – never at Hogwarts, never even in the early days of his confinement in Grimmauld Place, when he was furious with everyone who had played a part in locking him in. When he was angry with her, he usually showed it by completely ignoring her, not lashing out like this.

"Or have you forgotten how the wards on Grimmauld Place work, Harry? They're designed to prevent you even opening the front door without the permission of someone who set the wards. That means that right now there are only two people in London who can let you out: myself and Hermione. I hope you'll keep that in mind when speaking to us."

It was a rank threat. Hermione frowned and twirled a lock of hair around one finger, nerves making her fidget – and she wasn't the fidgety type.

Harry shoved his chair back from the table, scowled at Lupin, stared furiously at the floor. Lupin watched Harry calmly. Hermione tugged slightly on the lock of hair wound around her finger, while Ginny gazed at Remus with a flinty expression.

". . . All _right_," Harry grunted.

Lupin nodded approvingly.

"Is there anything else you wanted to ask, Harry?" Hermione asked, slightly tremulously.

He looked at her and shook his head.

Frowning, Lupin stood. "Hermione, Ginny, tell him about anything else that needs covered. I'm going to go talk to Neville."

As he left, Ginny shot Hermione a dubious look, as if to say _what else needs covered?_ Hermione reached for her teacup, took a drink and then launched into a description of everything that had happened in the past month: her trip to Los Angeles, the underground scramble for the first Horcrux at Monkton Farleigh, their flight north, the tumultuous fight at Stockbridge Main. Her phrasing became carefully constricted during discussion of the second Horcrux – Ginny had divulged Percy's location to her, but she couldn't tell Harry – and she wrapped up with their recent activities at Wolfram & Hart. Harry listened to it all, a carefully neutral expression on his face, staring at the flagstone floor of the kitchen. If it weren't for the fact that his eyes flickered every now and then, she would have sworn he wasn't listening to her.

". . . and then we came here," she said, finishing her recitative. "That's it." She clasped her hands and rested them on the table.

Harry grunted, reaching up to shove his glasses up his nose, still not looking at Hermione or Ginny. A tense silence fell over the room and Hermione bit her lip. A noise at the door made her look over; Remus stood in the doorway, looking sober. "Is there anything else that needs done?" he asked.

"We're done here," Ginny said, shooting a glance at Harry, who had looked up and quickly back down again when Lupin spoke. "Let's go."

Lupin nodded. "Harry?"

"What."

"Are you coming with us?"

Hermione watched the emotions dance across Harry's face. He was clearly torn between his desperate desire to leave Grimmauld Place and his equally desperate desire not to have anything further to do with Hermione, Lupin or Ginny. She figured Harry had deduced that if he left Grimmauld Place, he would be tethered to them; she didn't intend to let Harry out of her sight until Voldemort was defeated and she suspected Ginny didn't either.

After a few moments' intense inner debate, Harry stood up. "There's no way I'm staying in this hole."

Lupin nodded, looking approving.

They filed back up the stairs to the entrance hall. Neville, clearly upset but working to control it, stood by the door, waiting for them. Hermione hurried over to him, taking his hand in both of hers. "Neville, I'm so sorry," she said, apologizing both for Luna's death and the delay in informing him. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

He smiled wanly at her. "So am I."

"If there's _anything_ –"

"I know."

Behind her, Remus was tapping the doorframe with his wand and muttering spells, taking down the wards that had prevented Harry from leaving Grimmauld Place. Ginny shifted in anticipation, reaching out to grab Harry's hand. He startled and she said, "As soon as you clear the door, I'm Apparating us to Wolfram & Hart. I want to be ready."

Harry frowned. "Where's that?"

"The Muggles," said Ginny.

"Ah!" Lupin stepped away from the door. "The wards are down and I've undone the locks. Ginny, Harry, go. We'll follow you to Wolfram & Hart." He held the door open for them. Ginny and Harry blinked a few times, their eyes used to the gloom inside Grimmauld Place, and sprinted for the door. Their momentum carried them halfway down the steps of the front stoop before Ginny Disapparated them.

"Neville?" Lupin said, gesturing out the open door.

Neville shook his head. "I'll lock up after you. You go on ahead."

Hermione squeezed his hand before dropping it. "Thank you. You've done so much –"

"I just talked to him is all."

"You've done _so much_. Oh, Neville, I can't thank you enough. _Anything_. I mean it." She turned to Remus. "Let's go."

"After you."

Hermione jogged out the door, waiting until she was at the bottom of the stoop to Apparate back to Wolfram & Hart. She landed in the middle of the lobby, followed a second later by the _crack!_ of Lupin's Apparition.

Angel's office door was wrenched violently open. "Do you _mind_," Angel said, leaning out, "I'm trying to make a call – oh." He glanced at Harry and nodded slightly. "I'll call Wesley."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the seven of them – all except Illyria, who had vanished, worrying Wesley – sat around the table in the small conference room attached to Angel's office, Angel at the head of the table and Lupin at the foot. Harry had been formally introduced to the members of the Wolfram & Hart team and sat next to Ginny, idly swiveling his chair back and forth. 

"I suppose," said Lupin, "the question is again what we do next."

"The third Horcrux," Ginny said firmly.

"We still don't know how to destroy that locket," Hermione pointed out.

"There's no harm in going and getting the third Horcrux, though, is there? I mean, if we have it and Voldemort doesn't we're still one up on him. We can just hang onto it until we know what to do with it."

"Where is it?" Harry asked. "The third Horcrux, I mean."

"Nottinghamshire."

Remus extracted the Horcrux map from his pocket and spread it on the table. Harry pulled it over to himself and frowned at it. "How'd you get this?"

Hermione pointed down the table. "Wesley made it."

He raised his eyebrows. "I performed a seeking spell, that's all."

"It's Muggle magic," Hermione said, seeing Harry's nonplussed expression. "It uses rituals and sacred objects to channel the magic, instead of wands and invocations – oh, never mind. It's different and it _works_."

Harry grunted and continued staring at the map. Hermione glanced at Ginny just in time to see her roll her eyes; realizing she'd been seen, Ginny smiled briefly, looking rather covertly amused.

"I believe I'm on the track of something interesting," Wesley said into the silence.

"Really?" asked Hermione. "What have you found?"

Wesley leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. "I've been working through the library's collection of scrolls, as you know. Most of them are medieval in origin and somewhat mundane, but earlier this afternoon I found one that purports to be Salazar Slytherin's diaries."

Hermione blinked. "_Really_." _Curiouser and curiouser_, she thought, parroting Alice and wondering what Salazar Slytherin's diaries were doing in the Wolfram & Hart library.

"Indeed. It appears that Slytherin was rather a prolific diarist. These aren't the originals, of course. They appear to be a fourteenth-century copy."

"Anything useful?" Remus asked with keen interest.

"So far, not as such, no. He spends most of his time complaining about how pigheaded 'Godric' is, keeping a growth chart for 'Baby', and making lewd remarks about 'Rowena'. I will, however, let you know when I find anything."

Spike leaned back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. "So are we doing this or not? Because I don't mind telling you, I'm a bit bored myself."

"_Yes_," said Ginny.

"She's got a point," Angel said. "No, look, Hermione. I understand what you're thinking. But the fact is, we picked up that first Horcrux a week ago. Voldemort knows what we're doing now. There's no way to surprise him like we did that time. The longer we wait, the longer we give him to get defenses up or even move the Horcrux. We need to go now."

Hermione looked to Lupin, who made a _he _has_ a point, Hermione_ face at her. "Oh, all _right_," she said. "_Honestly_. But we don't even know where it _is_."

"Nottinghamshire," Ginny said promptly.

"Is an entire _county_."

"Where might he have hidden it, then?" Wesley asked.

"He was hiding them in places that meant something to him," Harry said, somewhat unexpectedly. Hermione blinked at him. He pushed his glasses up his nose and said, "That cave was someplace he used to go as a kid. And the ring that Dumbledore destroyed was in the Gaunt house."

"He's moved them, though." Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms reflectively. "We knew that after Lepping. And while it's true I don't know much about the history of Lord Voldemort, I doubt he had much connection with Monkton Farleigh."

"Underground," said Hermione. "The cave was underground, Monkton Farleigh was underground . . ." She looked at Ginny. "What's underground in Nottinghamshire?"

Ginny shrugged, but from down the table Wesley said, "Mines. Nottinghamshire has been mined for 100 years. There's also some caves in the western part of the county."

"Might he have hidden the Horcrux in a coal mine?" Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"We could always Apparate up there and find out," suggested Ginny.

Angel grumbled, "Or we could just walk right into a trap."

"More fun than what we're doing now, mate," Spike said. "I for one am all for it."

Scratching at his temple, Lupin said carefully, "Little Hangleton is in the southernmost part of Yorkshire. It borders on Nottinghamshire."

Harry stared at the table.

"Remus," said Hermione, "you cannot be suggesting that the third Horcrux is in the Riddle House."

"Why not? It's in the right area. It has meaning to Voldemort. He's not using it as his headquarters anymore – he moved those about eighteen months ago. It's certainly logical."

"Are you mad?" demanded Ginny. "It's too obvious! You just finished saying Voldemort moved the Horcruxes after Lepping, and clearly he moved them to _clever_ places because we did sod-all about finding them until Wesley came along. The Riddle House is the _opposite_ of clever. It is the New Zealand of clever. Voldemort might as well hang a great flashing sign over the Riddle House saying 'I've got a Horcrux here, come and get it.'"

Wesley shifted in his chair. "What is the Riddle House?"

"It's Voldemort's old base. It's where his father and grandparents lived before he killed them," Hermione said.

"It's where he came back," said Harry, sounding a little hollow.

Wesley raised his eyebrows.

"I agree with Ginny," Hermione continued, "it doesn't make any sense as a location for a Horcrux. It's almost guaranteed he had a Horcrux there _before_, but why would he have one there _now_?"

"He has a strong connection to the place," said Lupin, nodding to Harry. "And it's ground that he can control completely. It makes sense to me."

Ginny crossed her arms and tossed her hair. "You're mad."

The debate continued for several minutes. Angel sided with Lupin – "Remember _The Purloined Letter_. Sometimes the most obvious hiding place is the best one" – while Wesley argued both sides, apparently still considering the options. Ginny insisted that Remus was a raving lunatic for thinking the Horcrux might be in the Riddle House, but Hermione was starting to agree with him. Spike tossed in random locations – "It's on the bloody _moon_, it is" – apparently to amuse himself. Harry spent the entire discussion staring at the table, occasionally running a hand through his hair and making it stand out in all directions.

Surprisingly, Illyria settled the issue by appearing out of nowhere and loudly announcing, "I have found the Horcrux."

Expressions of surprise and confusion went up from around the table. Wesley said, "You can't have!" while Spike muttered, "Takes all the fun out of _that_, doesn't she?" and Hermione found herself rather ungracefully demanding, "_What?_"

"I have," Illyria repeated, "found the Horcrux." It walked around the table to stand in the empty space beside Wesley. Hermione, who was on the other side of the empty spot, tried not to let it spook her.

Wesley looked up at Illyria with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. "Why?"

"Because I tired of this inaction. Burying yourself in old books and uncertainty. A waste."

"I don't suppose you brought the Horcrux back with you?" Remus looked faintly amused by the situation.

"No." Illyria raised its head, giving Lupin a supercilious look. "I could not penetrate the protections around the Horcrux."

"Doesn't bode well for us, then," said Spike.

"Where is it?" Ginny asked. "Is it underground?"

Illyria turned, staring at Ginny, blue eyes piercing. "No."

"So much for coal mines," Harry said. "Wrong again."

Ginny's eyes darkened, but she held her tongue.

"Where is it, Illyria?" Angel asked, rather curtly.

"A house."

Hermione frowned. It seemed to be enjoying the process, dribbling these drops of information out for them.

Rubbing his nose, Lupin said, "The Riddle House. It must be."

"It sounds likely," said Wesley.

"Right then," said Spike. "Who's going?" He bounced to his feet.

Wesley shot Spike an arch look. "I believe we'll all be going. Except . . ." His gaze slid over to Harry, who gave him a rather surly look in return.

"I'm going," Harry said mulishly. Lupin looked at him, expression hard and challenging, and Harry scowled even more deeply. "I meant what I said."

"You can't go," Hermione protested. "You haven't your wand."

"Where is it?"

"My flat. Only there's Death Eaters and everyone watching my flat, I can't go back . . ."

Harry's stare boring into her was flat and merciless. "Get it."

* * *

In the end, it was much easier breaking into her own flat than Hermione expected. That evening, Remus, Spike and Angel Apparated in up one end of the street as a distraction while Hermione and Ginny Apparated in down the other end. Ginny placed Hermione under a Disillusionment Charm, and Hermione started walking the 200 feet to her flat. 

As she drew near to her flat, she had to admit the plan was working well: Voldemort obviously had not set his best and brightest on the mundane task of guarding her flat. The head of the Order of the Phoenix suddenly appearing in the middle of the street, accompanied by two unknown but dangerous strangers, had been enough to draw the Death Eaters out. Spike started hurling invective at their mothers and sisters, and that let her make it into the building without any of them noticing the faint outline of a human body slipping past them. Hermione hunched over the locks on her door, both magical and Muggle, and tried to undo them as quickly as possible.

Once she was safely inside her flat, she breathed a quick, quiet sigh of relief. Her flat looked strange and unfamiliar, although she supposed that was just because she hadn't been inside it for the better part of two weeks. A faint layer of dust had settled over everything. She brushed the dust off a small figurine of a ginger tabby cat and frowned.

Harry's things were stashed in a box under her bed. Hermione started packing things into her pockets, shrinking various items to fit. Thinking, she swirled the Invisibility Cloak over herself, feeling relieved once she had faded into total invisibility, the lines left by the Disillusionment Charm disappearing.

She tiptoed through her flat, opening the front door and peeking out. Colored lights lit the sky as Remus dueled with the Death Eaters, but none were the sickly green of Avada Kedavra. Hermione smiled somewhat grimly. Voldemort's mandate to bring them in alive occasionally came in useful.

Down in the street, Spike was shouting, "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" Carefully, Hermione locked the door behind herself before pelting down the stairs and up the street toward Ginny. As soon as she was free of the anti-Apparition wards, she sent up a shower of green sparks, the signal that she was clear. There was an uproar from the other end of the street, and the last thing she saw as she Apparated away was a streak of red light zooming toward her . . .

* * *

When Hermione reappeared in the Wolfram & Hart lobby, Harry was waiting for her. He looked around, not seeing her, and said impatiently, "Well?" 

"Wait, Harry," said Hermione. She pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. "I have your wand and things, but we have to wait for Ginny to come back so she can Disillusion me." She balled the Cloak up and flung it at him; Harry caught it, somewhat awkwardly. In his hands, the Cloak reverted to its usual silvery-grey appearance.

With a _crack!_, Ginny Apparated into the lobby, followed shortly by Lupin, who was clutching Angel and Spike by the arms and looked slightly winded. "Is Hermione back yet?" Ginny said.

"I'm here," said Hermione.

"Wave." Ginny looked around briefly, finally zeroing in on Hermione, who was waving both hands in the air. "There you are. Hang on." She tapped Hermione on the head, muttering the Reillusionment Charm. Hermione sighed in relief as the clammy feeling of the Disillusionment Charm fell away.

Harry crossed his arms. "_Well?_"

She carefully dug in her pockets, trying not to break any of the fragile, tiny items stored inside. "Here," she said, pulling out Harry's wand, the size of a toothpick. A quick Enlarging Charm, and it was back to normal, a bit dusty from its long stay underneath Hermione's bed but otherwise undamaged.

Harry took back his wand, a hungry look on his face. A shower of red sparks shot out of his wand as soon as he touched it; Hermione hissed as some landed on her arm and burned. "I have more," she said, reaching back into her pockets and pulling out items: his Firebolt, the size of a twig; Hedwig's cage, the size of a pack of gum; his family photo album, the size of a matchbook. Harry began to look like the front window of a charity shop as she handed things to him.

His eyes on Hedwig's clean, empty cage, he asked, "What have you done with Hedwig?"

"She's been living in the Hogwarts owlery," Remus said. "Carrying mail when she feels like it. She had a nest of owlets a few years ago."

"She remembers you, Harry," said Ginny. "Don't worry. You should see the looks she gives me."

"All right." Harry looked up, determination on his face. "Let's go."

"Oh, no. No way," Angel said. "It's suicide going in there tonight. None of us are rested, we haven't prepared – Tomorrow night," he said, forestalling Harry's protest. "We'll go tomorrow night."

Harry looked mutinous, but nodded.

* * *

Tomorrow night came faster than Hermione was expecting. Per Angel's instructions, she spent the afternoon napping. Precisely at eight, she went down to the Wolfram & Hart lobby, wearing black and with her hair twisted into a rough braid. 

Angel and Spike were there already, Angel looking grim and Spike bouncing on his toes from excitement. Shortly afterward, the rest of the group trickled in: Ginny, her hair swept back into a ponytail; Harry, looking angry and eager; Remus, wearing black robes for the occasion; Wesley, trailed by Illyria. The eight of them assembled into a rough circle in the Wolfram & Hart lobby, shuffling nervously. Remus said, "Illyria, you're the one who knows where this is. Care to do the honors?"

It regarded him imperiously, lifting its head and staring at him down his nose – and then it drew its hand down the air, tearing a hole in space that rippled and wavered. Through the rip, Hermione could see darkness, a lawn, and a house, looming up out of the night.

"I'm going," Harry said decisively, and he charged through the portal. Ginny followed, and one by one they all stepped through into the night.

* * *

"You're late." 

Hermione jumped as an unfamiliar voice spoke out of the dark.

"_Lumos!_" said Harry, raising his wand and holding it high, lighting nearly the entire front garden of the Riddle House. Hermione blinked in surprise. There, leaning against a tree, was a dark-haired girl – the same girl who had come to Cresswell's house to warn them that the Death Eaters were after them.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Who _was_ this girl? _Girl_ was perhaps something of a misnomer – she looked to be around Hermione's age, if not older, with long ash-brown hair and sleepy eyes. At the same time, Hermione was sure she'd never seen her before – at least, not before she showed up at Cresswell's house.

"It couldn't be helped," Lupin said mildly.

"I was expecting you last night."

"There were complications." Remus nodded his head at Harry, who gave him a brief _what's this got to do with me?_ sort of look.

"Ah, Potter," the girl said, grinning, although it wasn't a pleasant sort of grin. "Did Granger finally let you out of your cage?"

"Who are you?" Ginny said sharply. "Where do you get off saying things like that –"

"Oh, like I'd really tell you, Weasley. I'm a secret agent. Emphasis on the _secret_."

Ginny snorted. "That's bullshit."

The girl rolled her eyes and turned away. "You know he's not there, right?" she said to Lupin.

"We had figured that, yes. What is in there?"

"A trap."

"Thank you," Wesley said, slightly acerbically, "that's quite a help."

"He doesn't tell me everything," the girl said, looking exasperated. "I'm doing what I can here. He moved to Castle Yfelwulf last year. I asked him what he was planning to use the house for. He said, 'A trap.' I'm not his favorite, I never have been. He doesn't tell me any more than he thinks I need to know."

"If you know so much about the situation, then, you're coming with us," Ginny said, marching over and decisively grabbing the girl by her arm, dragging her away from the tree.

"What? No way!" the girl protested, digging in her heels. "I didn't agree to this."

"_Move_," said Ginny. She looked back over her shoulder. "Are you all coming?"

Shaking her head, Hermione trotted forward, the rest of the group trailing along behind her. Remus walked up alongside her. "What are you thinking?" she said to him.

"Be on your guard," he said. "Who knows what Voldemort has thought up. But if anyone can get us through this, it's you."

"Is that meant to be encouraging?" she asked, and then they were all standing on the front porch of the Riddle House. Ginny, keeping a firm grip on the girl's wrist, flung open the front doors of the mansion, peered inside, and then said dramatically, "Here we go." She stepped into the mansion, dragging the girl with her – and disappeared.

"A trap," Hermione muttered sourly. She followed Ginny into the Riddle House and was immediately swallowed by blackness. "Hello?" she called –

– and then everything was bright and red-orange and _hot_, most of all hot. Hermione broke into an immediate sweat and regretted her choice of a black jumper and denims. It had to be at least forty degrees in the room, probably closer to fifty . . . understandable, though, because the entire room was on fire.

Hermione looked around. Beside her, Ginny, Remus and the girl shared a look of bemusement, while Angel, on her other side, looked discomfited – but Harry, Illyria, Wesley and Spike were nowhere to be seen. "Where are the others?" she asked. "Have you seen them?"

"They were right behind me," said Angel. "Wesley was right behind me when I came in."

"It's part of the trap," Remus said. "He's separating us to make it harder."

"Harder?" Ginny muttered. "This is hard enough."

Hermione had to agree. The five of them stood back to back in a small circle, the only space in the room free of billowing flames. The floor was carpeted by fire, the ceiling was consumed in fire, and random jets of flame gushed through the room at odd intervals, making the air warp and twist. It wasn't as if the room was burning down, though, more like it was simply filled with flames. The room was roughly square, thirty feet by thirty feet, and there was a door on the far wall – but thirty feet might as well be thirty miles.

Angel shifted anxiously, watching the flames with unease. "What?" Hermione asked, rolling up the sleeves of her jumper.

"I'm a little flammable," he said. "It makes me uncomfortable."

"This is just wonderful," the brown-haired girl muttered. "I'm going to burn to death. This is all your fault, Weasley."

"Shut up," snapped Ginny.

"Any ideas, Hermione?" Lupin asked. "I hear you have a knack for getting through these sorts of puzzles."

"Maybe . . ." Hermione lifted her wand. "_Gelatio Flamma!_" A jet of cool blue light shot out of the end of her wand, but passed through the flames with no appreciable effect. Frowning, she bit her lip.

"_Aguamenti!_" called Lupin. A jet of water gushed out of the end of his wand, hissing and steaming as it doused the flames five feet in front of them. Hermione watched, nervously clenching her fists, as the fire died down to nothing. Lupin stepped forward – and then the flames roared back, higher than ever, nearly singeing his eyebrows off.

Ginny said, "I have an idea." Flicking her wand with short, sharp movements, she cried, "_Glacius!_" A gust of freezing wind swirled out of the end of her wand, chilling Hermione's left arm. The wall of flames in front of them sputtered and flickered as the sub-zero air hit it, but didn't go out. Lowering her wand, Ginny said emphatically, "_Damn_ it."

"Now what?" said Angel. "There's no way back, so we've got to find a way forward, or we're stuck here."

"Well, Granger?" said the brown-haired girl. "You're supposed to be the clever one. Fat lot of good you're doing us now."

"Why don't you suggest something, then?" snapped Ginny.

The girl looked affronted. "Me? I'm an innocent bystander. You're the one that dragged me into this. You get me out."

Ginny muttered something in reply. To Hermione, it sounded extremely profane.

Hermione grabbed a lock of hair and started twirling it around her finger as she thought. "There has to be a way to put the fire out," she said. "Something simple, something obvious, something right in front of us, if we just _think_ about it. He's fond of that. Monkton Farleigh. The only way out is through."

She tried to put her hand down, realized she'd completely tied her hair into a knot, and frowned as she tugged her hand free. She continued brainstorming, muttering, "Flame-freezing didn't work, wet didn't work, cold didn't work . . . I learned about this in primary school. Can't remove the oxygen, can't remove the fuel, we tried removing the heat . . ."

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" asked the girl.

"Try asking yourself that," Ginny said.

Hermione blinked as the solution to the puzzle dawned on her. She raised her wand and flicked it as if she were cracking a whip. "I've got it! _Fiammo!_"

A fireball bloomed from the end of her wand. The flames it touched went out – and stayed out.

Ginny whooped with glee. "How'd you figure that out, Hermione?" she asked.

"I just . . . I thought that since we tried removing the heat from the fire and that didn't work, maybe we should try _adding_ heat to the fire."

"And it worked," said Remus.

Hermione nodded and shrugged. "Simple, obvious, and right in front of us."

"_Fiammo!_" said Ginny, watching delightedly as her fireball impacted and extinguished another jet of fire. "Let's go."

After some careful rearranging, the four wizards lined up with Angel shielded behind them, muttering about the ridiculousness of the situation. They worked their way across the room, cracking off fireballs at Lupin's count and gradually clearing a path to the door. Hermione, who was standing nearest to Angel, could hear what he was saying most clearly. "Fire. It had to be fire," he was mumbling. "It couldn't be cold or wet or dark. No. Fire. I'm used to wet. I can handle wet. Dark would be great. But instead, we get fire."

It was hot, sweaty work, flames licking at them from each side, making Hermione nervous. As a vampire, Angel might be especially susceptible to flame, but humans burned too, and they did so rather unpleasantly.

Several minutes later, all of them – save Angel – dripping with sweat, they stood in front of the exit door, a plain brown wooden door with a simple brass knob. Ginny reached out and tried the handle. "Locked," she said, shaking her head.

"Stand back," said Hermione. "_Alohomora!_"

With a small _tchk_, the lock retracted and then the door flew open, revealing the same darkness as had been behind the front door of the Riddle house. Dubious, Hermione sighed. "Come on," she said, and stepped into the darkness.

The sound hit her before the light did – alarm clocks, lawnmowers, chainsaws, jackhammers, a terribly out of tune death metal band, all at a volume that could be created only by being played through the world's largest loudspeaker hooked up to an amplifier turned up to 11. The cacophonous din threatened to drown out thought and consciousness. Hermione squinched her eyes shut and covered her ears, reciting times tables in her head until she could think again.

Whe she opened her eyes, she saw that the brown-haired girl and Remus had made it into the room with her, but Ginny and Angel were nowhere to be seen. Lupin looked slightly wall-eyed, as if his brains were rattled by the noise, and the girl was shouting something soundlessly, her face contorted in a sneer. Probably something along the lines of how she was going to suffer permanent hearing loss after this and it was all Hermione's fault. She certainly wasn't going out of her way to endear herself to the group.

_How in the world are we going to solve this one?_ Hermione thought. She certainly knew several ways to make one's voice louder, from the Sonorus Charm on down, but would the same trick work twice?

Remus came to stand beside her, clearly yelling at the top of his voice, but totally inaudible. She shook her head and he gestured at the room, waving one arm in a sort of _well, let's have a look round_ gesture. This room was much like the last one: squarish, thirty feet by thirty feet, with iron-gray walls and ceiling and a black and white checkerboard tile floor. That was definitely different, Hermione noted; the floor in the last room had been wooden underneath the fire.

Lupin caught her attention again. _Spread out_, he mouthed. He turned and had a short conversation via gestures with the other girl, pointing at her and indicating that she should investigate the room. The girl shook her head several times before finally offering Lupin a two-fingered salute, but she did rather sullenly start walking around the room.

The constant clamor was giving Hermione a massive headache. She could feel the sound reverbrating inside her chest, making her feel as if her insides were vibrating. It was beyond obnoxious and made concentrating a trial. _I know that's the point_, she thought, gritting her teeth. _It doesn't make it any less awful_.

Hermione was running one hand along the wall, tapping it at intervals, when a movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned and saw it was the brown-haired girl, standing in the center of the room and waving her arms frantically, looking rather displeased about it.

Both she and Remus walked over to join the girl. "_What?_" mouthed Lupin.

The girl simply pointed down, stepping on one of the black tiles and pushing it back and forth with her foot. Remus frowned, kneeling beside the tile. It took him a moment to wedge his fingers and pull it out of its spot.

Hermione knelt beside him, frowning quizzically at the empty spot where the black tile had lain. There was certainly nothing remarkable about it. _In a room like this, though, a loose tile _means _something_, thought Hermione. _This room, every bit of it, was constructed by Voldemort. He wouldn't leave a tile loose unless there was a reason for it_.

The brown-haired girl scowled down at the both of them. Hermione put a hand down to steady herself, biting her lip slightly as she thought – and then she recoiled, shaking her hand. The tile had felt _oily_, as if it had been spread with a thin coat of petroleum jelly.

"_What?_" Remus mouthed again.

"_Sticky_," Hermione said, gesturing for him to touch the tile. Testing, she ran a finger over the tile above the empty hole. It, too, was sticky, but not uniformly so – there were parts that felt dry and cool, like a normal tile. She frowned, tracing the parts that felt oily . . . and then she groaned as abruptly she realized what sort of puzzle this was. As a test, she pushed the tile down into the place of the removed tile. It slid neatly into place.

Hermione cast the Sonorus Charm on herself, leaned close enough to Lupin that her mouth was practically in his ear, and shouted at top volume, "It's one of those slider puzzles. I had a few as a child. We have to move the tiles into the right order."

She could just faintly hear herself inside her own head, as if she was shouting over a canyon and hearing herself from the other side. From the concentrating expression on Lupin's face, he heard her at about the same volume. After she was done speaking, he cast _Sonorus_ on himself and yelled into her ear, "How do we know what the right order is?"

"The oily patches make a picture, I'm sure of it. We have to figure out what the design is supposed to be." Hermione tapped the nearest tile with her wand. "_Specialis Revelio!_"

The tile lit up bright pink, the sticky patches turning a vivid green in contrast. Hermione moved from tile to tile, methodically casting Scarpin's Revealaspell on each of them. In all, 15 tiles were splashed with the lurid green and pink. She sighed, regarding the tiles with dismay.

"I was never any good at these puzzles," Hermione said into Remus's ear. "Usually I just pulled all the pieces out of the frame and put them back in order."

"It will perhaps not surprise you to learn that as a child, I developed something of a talent for solving them," Lupin said. "I'll work on this one." He moved so that he was kneeling beside the puzzle, frowned and started pushing pieces around.

Later, Hermione wasn't sure how long it took for Remus to solve the puzzle. She wasn't wearing a watch, and there was no way to measure the passage of time in the room, which was a windowless box. She thought it might have been only a few minutes, but it could have been much longer. Most of the time she spent watching Lupin shift the pieces, but from time to time she glanced up at the brown-haired girl, who was staring at the puzzle with a disgusted and bored expression.

Hermione could sympathize on some level with both the disgust and the boredom, but her boredom was tempered with nervousness. It had become clear, once Lupin had placed a few pieces in order, that the design on the puzzle was a Dark Mark. _Typical Voldemort_, she thought. _Making whoever solves this puzzle assemble a Death Eater symbol_.

At one point, she glanced up, catching the other girl taking a swig from a hip flask and making a repulsed face. Hermione frowned, the gesture reminding her of Mad-Eye Moody, fourth year, who hadn't actually been Moody, but a Death Eater.

Not long after that – at least, Hermione didn't think it was very long after that – Remus slid the last few pieces into place. Her ears rang in the sudden silence that descended over the room, so that she almost missed the small _tchk_ of the door to the next room unlocking. All three of them were still for a moment, blinking as they adjusted to the quiet. Then Hermione quickly canceled the Sonorus Charm and said to the brown-haired girl, "You're using Polyjuice Potion."

The girl curled her lip at Hermione. "And here I was thinking your cleverness was just a rumor. Of _course_ I'm using Polyjuice Potion, Granger. I'm a traitor. That doesn't make me _stupid_."

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, although she suspected she knew already.

The girl simply rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Hermione," said Lupin. "The door's open. Let's go."

The brown-haired girl turned and headed for the door at top speed. Remus and Hermione followed her shortly.

Hermione was expecting the darkness between the rooms. What she wasn't expecting was the bitter cold as soon as she and Lupin stepped into the next room. Fire, sound, cold – what else had Voldemort thought of to throw at them? She started fumbling to roll down the sleeves of her jumper, watching her breath immediately crystallize in front of her. "How cold do you think it is in here?" she asked, shivering.

"Twenty below, I don't know. Cold enough." Lupin nudged her. "Keep moving."

"What are we supposed to _do_ here?" Hermione looked around. This was another plain, gray, boxy room, the only thing remarkable about it being its temperature. A strong wind blew through the room, changing direction and speed unpredictably, carrying snow and ice with it. Cold, wet and wind – not a good combination.

"I'm not completely sure."

Teeth chattering, Hermione drew her wand and tried to conjure herself a coat. The spell failed, as she was half-expecting it to do – that would have been easy, and Voldemort wasn't interested in making this easy. She grimaced, pulled the elastic band off the end of her braid, and Transfigured it into a Mason jar. Hermione muttered the spell for her bluebell flames, filling the jar with the cool blue fire and then wrapping her arms around it as if clinging to a life preserver. They wouldn't be enough to keep her from succumbing to the cold eventually, but any source of heat was better than none. "If you've anything small and Transfigurable on you, I'll do some flames for you," she said to Lupin.

"Oh –" Absently, Remus reached into the pockets of his robes. His left pocket was empty, but his right pocket yielded two Knuts, a Sickle, half of a broken quill and an extremely tea-stained handkerchief.

"That'll do," said Hermione, taking the broken quill from him. A few clumsy taps of her wand – she was losing feeling in her fingers – and Remus soon had his own jar of fire. He smiled rather crookedly at it.

"I remember seeing you with these a few times in the courtyard at Hogwarts."

"I've always been good at fire spells. You know that." Hermione shifted her grip on her jar. It was perhaps more accurate to say she had _made_ herself good at fire spells. Even at eleven, she had been able to see that having the ability to command fire would be useful, and it was something to pass the time during those first, awful, friendless months at Hogwarts.

"Mmm." Remus shivered. "Let's look around the room. There has to be something we can do to go on to the next room."

He took the left half of the room and Hermione the right. She hadn't inspected more than a quarter of the room, though, before she became convinced there was _nothing_ in the room but the two of them – no puzzles, no tricks, no traps, just them and the cold. She walked back and forth over every one of the black and white tiles, scuffing at them experimentally to see if any of them moved. She tapped the walls, seeing if she could find a spot that sounded different, but they all made the same uniform _thonk_ sound. She even tried the door, wondering if perhaps it was unlocked and that was the trick, but it didn't even have a knob. All the while, she felt the cold getting to her, making her sluggish . . .

"Did you find anything?" she called to Remus.

"No. You?"

"Nothing." Hermione scowled. She was stumped, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger hated, it was being stumped. This room was a question, and there was _always_ an answer to every question. She just had to think hard enough, look long enough until she found it. If only she weren't so bloody _cold_.

The look on Remus's face was grimly amused. "I think we're stuck."

"But _why_? _Why_ would he do this? The other rooms had a way through. Monkton Farleigh, that cave – Voldemort isn't the type to just lead someone into a cage and leave them there. He's really not a very _good_ evil overlord," she muttered. If she hadn't been holding her jar of fire, she would have put her hands on her hips.

"He may have wised up. Remember, you were the one complaining about how this had been too easy and we hadn't met enough resistance. It may be that he has decided that leading someone into a cage and leaving them there is a very good idea."

"There has to be something."

"I don't know, Hermione. I found no switches, no levers, no puzzles. There's _nothing_."

"We just have to keep thinking. If we keep thinking, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Remus sighed.

"Oh, _honestly_. We can't just give up," snapped Hermione. "Even the wizarding world has heard of hypothermia."

An odd look crossed Remus's face.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione said, not quite able to keep from sounding suspicious.

He opened his mouth to say something, frowned, and abstractedly rubbed the fingers of his right hand. "Perhaps that's what we're supposed to do. Give up."

"You're hypothermic."

"Think about it, Hermione. We're trapped in a room where there is literally nothing to do – no puzzles to solve, no switches to pull. You said the solutions were going to be simple, right in front of us. Maybe that's it: if there's nothing to do, we should _do nothing_."

It was insane, it was illogical, it was irrational – and yet so were most of the plans she had taken part in over the years, and it wasn't as if she could think of a better one. "Oh, all _right_," she said, and set about doing nothing.

That was surprisingly easy. Hermione extinguished the bluebell flames in both their Mason jars before turning the jars themselves back into her elastic band and his broken quill. Remus tucked the quill back into his pocket while she wrestled her hair back into a plait. Both of them shoved their wands back into their pockets and then sat down next to each other, leaning against a wall. Hermione was colder than ever without her jar of fire. Clumsily tucking her hands in under her arms, she closed her eyes and let herself drift . . .

She woke up in another room, completely disoriented, confused, and incredibly cold. "Yeaugh," she said, and then her brain woke up the rest of the way. So Remus had been right about the trick, then. "Good," she mumbled. "I would have been mad if he'd been wrong."

Hermione sighed and slumped against the wall, waiting for the feeling to return to her feet and hands. After the bitter chill of the last room, this one felt like a sauna, making her pricklingly uncomfortable as she thawed out and her nerves complained about the experience. _So Voldemort_, she thought. _Making whoever comes through here totally disarm themselves before moving on to the next stage – making them completely useless to defend themselves._

While she waited, she looked around the room. She was alone, which meant that this room was either the last one or next to the last: whatever sort of ending Voldemort had in mind, it was coming up soon. This room was far smaller than the others, maybe six feet by ten feet, longer than it was wide, with Hermione at one end and a small pedestal at the other. _That has to be where the Horcrux is_, she thought. _Voldemort can't resist a pedestal_.

It was several minutes, many of them filled with painful pins and needles, before Hermione felt warm enough to stand up. She nearly fell over on her first try, steadying herself against the wall with one hand. This room, aside from its dimensions, was much like the others – gray walls, wooden floor – but Hermione frowned at the floor mistrustfully. It had an unusual matte finish, completely unlike the wooden floors in the house she'd grown up in. She rifled through her pockets, finding them empty, and again pulled the elastic from her hair. As a test, she bent down and touched it to the floor, then tried to lift it up again.

It wouldn't lift. Her hair elastic had stuck fast to the floor and wasn't going anywhere for a while. "Sticky," Hermione said. "Brilliant."

One thing was clear: her shoes were not making it out of the room. It was ten feet from where she stood to the pedestal. A flea might have been able to make the jump to the pedestal in one shot, but not Hermione. Gritting her teeth, she pushed off and jumped.

Her first landing got her a third of the way there and cost her her right shoe; her second landing got her three-quarters of the way there and cost her her left; but her third landing left her clutching the edge of the pedestal, standing on tiptoe in a small circle of non-sticky floor. There it was, sitting on the pedestal: Hufflepuff's cup, the third Horcrux. Hermione grabbed it, felt the hook in her stomach, and had just enough time to say "Port –" before the pedestal room disappeared in a rush of color.

"– key," she finished, making a rather rough landing in the dark. She felt grass beneath her and assumed she was probably somewhere in the garden surrounding the Riddle House.

"Hermione!" Ginny shouted. Several members of the team surrounded her, all talking at her at once. Angel pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled slightly.

"We were getting worried!" said Ginny. "Everyone else has been out for ages, we thought you got lost –"

"Everyone else?" said Hermione. She looked over the group, counting faces. "Where's Remus, then?"

"Not out yet," said Wesley.

"Looks like you left your shoes behind," Spike said.

"I had to. I wouldn't have made it out otherwise. But at least I have the Horcrux." Hermione held up the Hufflepuff cup.

Somehow, Harry, Ginny, Angel, Spike and Wesley all managed to look at each other at the same time. "We know," Wesley said.

"We've all got the Hufflepuff cup," Harry said, looking rather grim. He held up a small golden cup. So did Ginny. After some rustling in their pockets, both Angel and Spike produced identical cups.

Hermione groaned. Of course it wouldn't be so easy as that. Of course there were decoy Horcruxes. It'd certainly worked well enough before. "And there's no way to tell which one is the real one?"

"No," said Harry.

"At least, not given the means of analysis we have at present," Wesley said. "Perhaps once we return to Wolfram and –"

He was interrupted by the _thud_ of Lupin landing on the lawn in a messy sprawl. Remus carried with him both a golden cup and the stench of rotting corpses, causing everyone but Angel, Spike, and Illyria to take a discreet step backwards.

"Everyone's here now," said Ginny. "Can we leave?"

Lupin pushed himself to his feet. "One moment."

He looked at the brown-haired girl, who raised her eyebrows and drawled, "What?"

"You know what," Lupin said. "Give me yours. It might be the real one."

"How do you know I have one?"

"Because I do, and I see that almost everyone else standing here does also. Give it to me."

"You only had to ask nicely," the girl muttered, but she handed her own golden cup over. "I'm never helping you out again."

"You will, soon. I'm going to want to speak to you."

"Then I'll be sure to make time for it in my busy schedule killing Muggles and kissing the Dark Lord's robes." In a whirl of rotten temper, the dark-haired girl Apparated away.

A disgusted look on her face, Ginny said, "What a bitch."

Lupin sighed. "We're going back. Everyone grab an Apparition buddy and let's go."

* * *

Around midnight, the seven of them – Illyria had come back from Little Hangleton looking strangely satisfied and promptly disappeared – sat assembled around Angel's conference room table. They had Apparated back about an hour ago, but there had been an immediate run for the showers – while none of the others stank of corpses like Remus, apparently they had all been through some rather nasty stuff and wanted a chance to freshen up. 

Nine golden cups, all identically gleaming, were lined up down the center of the conference table. Hermione frowned at them, worrying at her bottom lip. At present everyone was still in the comparing rooms stage, but at some point they were going to have to figure out what to do about the cups.

"Bees," Ginny was saying. "Angel and I got bees."

"Oh now, that's nothing compared to what Deep Blue and I went through," said Spike. "Walls. Covered in spikes. I very nearly came out the other side a pincushion."

"Water," Harry said. "Our room was filled with water. But it was actually sort of easy, I just cast a Bubble-Head Charm on each of us . . ."

"What was your last room?" Hermione asked Remus.

"Corpses," he said grimly. "Hence the smell. What was yours?"

"Sticky."

Remus nodded. "But," he said, raising his voice slightly to catch everyone's attention, "getting to the point. We have nine cups, and only one of these is the Horcrux."

"But one of them _is_ the Horcrux," said Ginny.

"Still. Which one is it? How do we tell?"

"We still don't know what to do with Slytherin's locket," Hermione said.

"I may be able to help with that," Wesley said. "One moment . . ." He strode out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a stack of books and scrolls. "I spent the morning reading the Slytherin scrolls," he said, spreading them out on the table. "Salazar Slytherin appears to have been a polyglot. Most of the scrolls are in Middle English – I'm guessing whoever copied the scrolls also translated them out of Old English – but there are portions in Latin, plus sections in languages I can't even begin to recognize. I suspect they're magical languages. Slytherin spends quite a bit of time talking about a necklace he's having designed . . . here." Wesley tapped one particular scroll. "He writes, 'Thise neck-lace bereth a curse of min ogen' in English, then switches to Latin: '_Caedo is quam vos caedo a vir. Scindo res in duos partis._'" Wesley frowned at the paper. "It may have been improperly transcribed, but essentially it says that to kill it – 'it' would be the necklace – one must kill it as if it were a man. He says specifically, 'Cleave the object into two parts.'"

"So in order to destroy that locket there, we have to take an axe to it?" Spike considered. "Sounds like a good time."

"I want to do it," said Harry.

"You _can't_," Hermione said, aghast.

"Stop telling me what I can and can't do, Hermione. I'm not eleven anymore. I don't need you bossing me around like a little boy. Or haven't you realized by now?" Harry stared at her coldly. "Every time you try to run my life, you completely screw it up."

She should be used to it by now, this Harry that didn't like her anymore. His words were still like a kick in the gut. Hermione pressed her lips together and focused on not crying.

Lupin gave Harry a level, evaluatory look. "When Slytherin says 'kill it as if it were a man,' he means that you have to cast Avada Kedavra. Nothing else completely destroys the Horcrux."

"I can do that."

"Can you really, Harry?" Remus's voice was slightly skeptical.

"If anyone should be able to destroy that locket, it's me. You weren't there – you don't know what Professor Dumbledore went through, what I went through – you don't know. It's mine. I should do it." Harry was breathing heavily. Ginny put a hand on his arm and he wrenched away. "Don't touch me."

Looking pained, Lupin rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We'll talk about it in the morning. It's late and I think after the Riddle house, we could all use a night's rest."

Harry stood up, violently pushing his chair away from the table, and stormed out of the conference room.

"Are you honestly going to let him try to destroy that Horcrux?" Hermione demanded.

"I don't know, Hermione."

"I just wish he'd –" She sighed. "It's all so wrong."

"He's angry right now," said Angel, "because being angry is easiest. Not that he doesn't have a reason –" Hermione flinched – "but also when you're angry, you don't have to feel anything else. Don't have to think about the other person and why they did what they did. You don't have to think that there might be some other side to what happened, a reason for why it happened, even if it was the most terrible thing that ever happened to you –" He broke off. "Never mind. The point is, right now he's angry, but he won't _always_ be angry. I'm not saying things will go back to like they were, because they won't, but he'll – You'll work through it. Eventually, Hermione."

At some point, Hermione mused, that had stopped being about her and Harry. She wondered exactly from what experience Angel was speaking.

"We'll work it out tomorrow, Hermione," Lupin said.

"And then?" said Ginny. "We destroy the Horcruxes, and?"

"We go after Voldemort," said Angel. "It's what we're here for."

Lupin nodded.

* * *

In the dark of the room she shared with Ginny, Hermione lay in bed, solidly wide-awake, despite the fact that it was gone two in the morning. Nervous thoughts chased themselves around and around in her head. _This is what you wanted_, she told herself. _You were ready to give up, so you went to Los Angeles, and now you're about to win this war, so why are you so worried?_

She sighed. _Because I nearly died last time we went after Voldemort. Because someone always dies. Because I broke Harry, and I'm not sure he can do what he needs to do._

_Because I'm not ready for it to be over._

Hermione scoffed at herself. Across the room, Ginny snorted and rolled over in her sleep. _I'm not ready for it to be over? Of course I am. It's all I've wanted, for years now._

_. . . But I'm not._

There was no lying to oneself at two-thirty in the morning. Hermione knew that on one level, she was indeed ready for an end to things – ready for her parents to come home from Canada, and ready for people to stop dying, and ready for an end to Voldemort. At the same time, though, the wizarding world had been at war since she was fourteen years old. It was, strangely, what she was used to. There was no doubt that the new world coming, the one she was going to help rebuild, would be better, but at the moment it was still an uncertainty. _What's going to happen to me? To us? Are we going to be all right? Oh, I hope so – I hope Harry –_

This was ridiculous. There was simply no point in lying here and torturing herself all night. Hermione sat up, throwing off her covers and putting on a dressing gown. She'd brought her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_; she could sit in the lounge and read it until her nerves calmed and she could sleep.

She opened the bedroom door and immediately paused, surprised. One light was on, very low, and someone was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust her eyes to even that minimal amount of light, and the figure looked up. "Hermione," Lupin said.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, closing the door behind her and walking over to the sofa.

He sighed, setting his book on the coffee table. "Neither could I. Too many plans."

"I keep thinking," she said. "We're going to change the world. It's going to be wonderful. But all I can think is – I'm _used_ to this one."

"It is going to be different." Remus shifted on the sofa. "What are you planning to do once all this is over?"

"Move. Or – I don't know. What will you do?"

"I think the traditional answer of 'I'm going to Disneyland' is probably best."

"I want us all to be all right," Hermione said. "I think that's all I've ever really wanted, and I'm so scared that we won't be, that Harry is going to do something _idiotic_ and get himself and possibly all of us killed, or worse, that _I'm_ going to do something idiotic and get us all killed, and –"

"Hermione."

She looked at Remus. He took her hand.

"It's going to be all right."

Hermione nodded, comforted if not soothed, and waited for the dawn.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Again, apologies for my extremely dodgy "Latin" and "Middle English". One has to make do at times. 

Hat tip to **honorh** for the word "Yfelwulf". Spike is, of course, quoting Monty Python when he does all that shouting about hamsters.

Next time on _Endlong into Midnight_: The team prepare to go over the top.

I hope to have Chapter 9 posted sometime during June and Chapter 10/the epilogue posted before July 20. Fingers crossed.

**Confidential to pstibbons**: The Order members don't try to kill the Death Eaters first because not many of them can actually perform Avada Kedavra -- Hermione can't, for example -- and second because that's not the way Lupin wants to fight. He sees killing as an absolute last resort. It's perhaps not the best strategy, but there you go.


	9. The City of Realizations

**Author's Note**: Good evening! *checks calendar* Has it really been two years? I suppose it has, at that. To be honest, I'd given up on ever uploading this chapter; I made it halfway through and then hit a brick wall. But after a fair bit of frustration, griping, and about thirty drafts, here is Chapter Nine, birthed at last.

With love to my steadfast beta reader, **powerof3**.

For everyone who's waited.

* * *

Chapter Nine  
_The City of Realizations_

Hermione was dragged out of a dream that she was naked, lost and late for an Arithmancy exam by an insistent pounding on the door of their suite. "Bnuh?" she said, lurching to her feet, waiting for both her brain and her vision to clear.

"I've got it, Hermione," Remus said, already up and moving to answer the door. Hermione blearily rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep grit out of the corners of her eyes, and then winced as Lupin pulled the door open, filling the dim living room with bright hallway light.

"Hello, Harry," Remus said, stifling a yawn.

"It's morning," announced Harry.

"Or will be soon, yes."

"I've had a rest. I'm ready to destroy those Horcruxes."

Remus sighed.

"What?" Harry demanded, rather rudely. "Last night you said we'd talk about it in the morning. It's morning now and I want to deal with those Horcruxes."

Hermione pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself and walked over to stand beside Lupin. Harry was standing in the hall, fully dressed and wearing the same mulish expression she'd seen on his face so often recently. He frowned when he saw her.

Lupin said, "You can't have slept more than three hours, Harry. I know I haven't."

"So?"

"So if you're expecting to be able to walk in and destroy the Horcruxes on the first try, you're expecting far too much."

Harry scowled. "Don't you tell me what I can and can't expect. You were rather wrong the last time you did."

"Harry, you're being unreasonable."

With an exaggeratedly feigned look of shock, Harry said, "Am I? Hadn't noticed. Good thing you pointed that out."

Briefly, Remus looked pained. Changing tacks, he said, "You may be ready to go, but the rest of the team, however, is not. It's barely seven in the morning. It won't hurt you to wait a few hours."

Harry crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't need the rest of the team to do this. I'm ready to go. All I need from you is the Horcruxes."

Lupin rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Come inside." He stepped back, opening the door wider. Harry gave him a _why-should-I_ sort of expression and Remus said, "Harry, I am not discussing this with you while standing in the hall. Come inside."

Defiantly, Harry stood his ground for just a second longer before stepping inside, coolly brushing past Hermione. Arms still crossed, he pointedly remained standing in the center of the sitting room, scowling heavily. Hermione covered her face with her hands, not sure whether to laugh or weep – or possibly just go back to bed. _This would be more amusing if I weren't so tired, but it is too early to be dealing with Harry in a mood like this._

"Sit down," Lupin said, closing the door of the suite. Harry still remained standing, and Lupin sighed again. "Look, there's a perfectly good chair you can sit in so you won't have to share the settee with either Hermione or me. Sit."

Harry made an awful face, but he did take a seat. Hermione sank back onto the loveseat, and Remus perched himself on the opposite arm from her. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, Harry still frowning, Remus placidly thinking. Hermione grimaced and started twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"Have you ever tried to cast an Unforgivable before?" Remus said, rather mildly.

Staring at the carpet, Harry said, "Yes."

"Which one?"

"The Cruciatus Curse."

"When?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really." Lupin paused and looked to be turning something over in his mind. "Did it work, when you cast the Cruciatus Curse?"

Harry said nothing.

"Mm. But you do know what it takes to cast one of the Unforgivables?"

"Yes," Harry said, his tone short.

"You know that it takes will beyond even the hardest ordinary magic. You know that you have to deeply desire to cause pain or –"

Tetchily, Harry said, "I know all that! I've heard it all already. Righteous anger won't do it – you have to get a – a kick from hurting people –"

"And _do_ you get a kick from hurting people?"

"I –" Harry stopped short.

"Are you even capable of getting a kick from hurting people? I'm not sure you are."

"You don't know anything about me!" exploded Harry. "Not anymore! You don't get to act like you understand me or anything I've been through or anything I've done!"

"Harry –" Hermione protested feebly.

"Stay out of this, Hermione!"

"I may have let you down, Harry – we may have let you down – but that does not mean we do not still care about you. It's not an easy thing, casting the Killing Curse. It's not a point of pride. It's not something you brag about – unless you're a Death Eater, but they have different standards," Remus amended himself. "Being able to cast Avada Kedavra, to be able to kill with a word . . . it means you're warped inside. Broken. And no, Harry, I don't think that what you've been through, whatever it was, whatever I don't know about – no, I don't think it's warped you enough that you can do this."

Harry roared, "I SPENT TWO YEARS MUMBLING TO MYSELF AND SCRATCHING THINGS IN THE WALLS AND YOU DON'T THINK I'M WARPED ENOUGH TO CAST AVADA KEDAVRA?"

"No."

"ARE YOU _MAD?_"

"_Have_ you ever been able to cast the Killing Curse?" Lupin challenged, sharply.

Harry subsided abruptly, clearly still furious, and seemed to be wrestling with whether to answer Remus's question. Lupin sat and waited quietly in a pool of serene calm. Beside him, Hermione focused on not letting her inner agitation show. She could feel her fingernails digging into her palms and forced herself to unclench her hands.

The thought that Harry might possibly have cast the Killing Curse, might have killed someone, was horrifying. They were at war, she knew that, and part of war was death – was killing. Was it still murder if you killed an enemy combatant? She wasn't sure, and part of her was sheepishly and shamefacedly glad that it was a question she'd never had to answer to salve her own conscience. There were, she supposed, advantages to being unable to cast the Killing Curse.

Hermione shook her head. Although she couldn't cast Avada Kedavra, she had an idea of the depth of violence it took to be able to cast it. It was terrible enough that Remus had that core of blackness – it was even more terrible to think of Harry, courageous and noble Harry, having that core.

It seemed like several nerve-wracking minutes before Harry grunted, "No."

"Excuse me?" Lupin said, inclining his head politely.

"I haven't cast Avada Kedavra – successfully," Harry spat. "All right?"

Remus said nothing.

"But that was just because – because I didn't understand before what it took. I thought I did . . . I thought I knew. Now . . ." Harry gave Lupin an intense stare, the effect of which was undiluted by his unkempt appearance and wrinkled clothing. In a flash, Hermione realized that the gaze was the remnants of Harry's Gryffindor Hero look, that painfully serious look he wore when he was convinced there was something awful that had to be done and that he was the best person for the job. She'd hardly recognized Harry the past few days, the fury in him distorting his personality and affect, but that look – that was the first thing she'd seen that reminded her of who Harry used to be.

Remus turned to Hermione and gave her a rueful, knowing look, one that said quite clearly what he was thinking: _he can't do it, but we're going to have to let him try._ Hermione frowned deeply and wrung her hands in her lap.

"I'm going to let you destroy the Horcruxes," Lupin said to Harry, who opened his mouth in response. Remus sent him a quelling gaze, raising one hand in a forbidding gesture. "Let me speak. I'm going to let you destroy the Horcruxes, but I have certain conditions. First, I will be there to supervise and the rest of the team will be there as backup. I know you don't want us, but you're going to need us if something does go wrong. Voldemort has been booby-trapping the Horcruxes and there's no way to tell what effects these Horcruxes might have on you.

"Second, you're going to eat a decent meal before you try – as decent a meal as you'll find in the canteen, anyway. I'd suggest that you try to get some rest, but – yes, I figured as much," Lupin said, seeing the thunderous look on Harry's face. "Third –" He seemed to be musing a moment before stretching his arm out in Harry's direction. "Hex me."

Hermione thought this was asking for trouble, but held her tongue. Harry didn't waste any time getting the hex off. His wand was out of his back pocket before Lupin had finished his sentence. "_Spinosus_!" Harry cried.

A small red welt appeared on Lupin's hand, making him wince slightly. Examining it carefully, he said, "Not bad. But I know you can do better – I've seen you do it. You may want to spend some time in the practice room before you attempt to destroy the Horcruxes."

"I haven't forgotten how to do magic," said Harry, giving first Lupin and then Hermione a dark look, as if he suspected them of taking his wand and giving him a useless stick in return.

"Oh, certainly I'm not suggesting that, Harry. Far from. Magic isn't something you can just _forget_ how to do. It's part of you, as much as your blood or your bones. But it isn't _all_ just talent, Harry. There is a discipline and a skill to magic – why do you think we spend seven years teaching you to perform magic before releasing you as adult wizards and witches? Those years are spent building skill, and skill decays with lack of use."

Harry had that mulish look again. "I was fine last night."

"Well, yes, that's as I was saying. Talent – if there's one thing you've always had, it was talent – that will always be there. But the magic you've done since regaining your wand hasn't been anywhere near the level of casting an Unforgivable. My third condition, Harry, is that you spend some time in the practice room polishing your skill before attempting to cast Avada Kedavra." Remus smiled crookedly. "I volunteer myself as a practice dummy. It shouldn't take long."

To Hermione's surprise, that provoked a smile from Harry – a small and bruised smile, but it was still the first one she'd seen out of him since his release from Grimmauld Place.

"All right," he said grudgingly. "Let's get started. Where's the canteen?"

"Hermione can show you where it is."

She pursed her lips. Hermione knew what Remus was trying to do – Harry would, if poked enough, come out of his snits, and Remus was giving him a poke – but it wasn't like him to meddle.

"Well, Hermione?" snapped Harry.

"I know where it is, yes – only Wesley said the canteen opens at seven, which is –" She searched the room for a clock. Remus produced a pocketwatch and handed it to her. "Which is fifteen minutes from now."

"Good," Ginny said decisively. Hermione jumped, reflexes on a hair trigger from nerves, and looked toward the bedroom door. There Ginny stood in her rumpled pajamas, arms crossed over her chest, regarding Harry with a miniature version of Molly Weasley's sabre-toothed tiger expression. "That gives us some time to talk."

"I don't want –" Harry started, bellicose, but Ginny cut across him as if she had a sword in hand.

"I don't care what you want, Harry Potter," she said, face and voice hard and fierce. "We're going to talk." Bright anger burning in every movement, Ginny stomped across the lounge, seized Harry by the arm and hauled him behind her into the bedroom.

Hermione blinked. She had been tolerating Harry's behavior – even if that tolerance was edged by despair – because she felt his actions were warranted. Evidently Ginny didn't share that feeling.

"Well," Remus said into the silence that surrounded them.

Hermione rubbed her face and sighed. "I can't believe you're letting him try to destroy the Horcruxes."

"Did I really have a chance to talk him out of it?"

"_Yes_," Hermione said firmly.

"I don't think so. He has to try, Hermione. I'll let him do that much."

"I'm just worried about what it's going to do to him!" she burst out. "He's supposed to be _recovering_, not casting all sorts of Dark spells! He's just been through a four-year-long dark night of the soul, and now we're encouraging him to muck about in all that darkness again? How is he supposed to heal and move on when you're sending him to dwell on everything he went through?"

Remus was silent for a long moment, long enough that Hermione began to wonder if she'd stumped him. At length, he said, "I'm going to let him try because he needs to feel that he's a part of things. Have you been listening to him, Hermione? This is his fight and he resents having been sidelined for so long. You remember – it was bad enough when we believed it would be only a few months. But four years wasted – and they were wasted for him, Hermione – he is exponentially more resentful. Do you blame him?"

"But it's _not_ just his fight! It isn't and it never has been! He's always had help, right from the very beginning. Ron and I, and Ginny – we've always been right there with him, helping him."

Remus gave Hermione a measuring look. "Helping him and fighting his war for him are two different things."

Hermione spluttered and went pink, upset by the implications of his statement. "Are you accusing me of –"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Hermione. I'm trying to help you understand. Listen to me. You know Harry has a hero complex about fighting the war alone – how many times did you have to talk him out of trying to do everything himself? Then not only do we insist on running the war by committee, which infuriates him, we lock him into a dungeon for his own safety. And while he's in there, we carry on with the war and the business of fighting. We get so swept up, we forget about him entirely . . . until we need him, anyway." Remus was watching Hermione intently as he spoke. "Do you see how it looks from his perspective?"

Oh, she knew what it looked like well enough. This was what Hermione had been wrestling with since Neville announced that Harry was well enough to see her and wanted to talk. When she had confessed her fears to Ginny, worrying that Harry would hate her, Ginny had responded simply: _He has a right to_. Despite knowing then that Ginny was correct, as Remus was correct now, she was still wounded by the statement. At the time she'd made the decision to lock Harry into Grimmauld Place, she'd been convinced that she was acting in service of the greater good, and even now the line of reasoning she'd used to convince the others still seemed so clear, so logical. _Harry is the only person who can defeat Voldemort. Voldemort can't be killed until we find the Horcruxes. We don't know where the Horcruxes are. Harry's life is in danger. We need to protect him_. Her intentions had been noble – her actions, however . . . That was where she kept foundering. She had only meant the best, and yet from the other side it did look awfully like a betrayal.

Miserably, she said, "I was only trying to do what was best for everyone. I never, ever meant for things to get this bad. I've tried telling him that."

"He won't believe you until you earn his trust again. Which is why –"

"Which is why we're letting him try to destroy the Horcruxes." Hermione sighed. "I still don't like it. I'm worried about him – it's my job. To worry about him and to try to keep him safe."

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well," said Remus, somewhat enigmatically.

Hermione, not having a good response to that, fell silent. Lupin seemed content to sit in a meditative quiet. He pulled his pocketwatch out, checked the time, and stowed it again without telling Hermione what time it was.

She listened for noise from the bedroom, wondering how Harry and Ginny's conversation was going. From the faint buzzing sound she could hear, she suspected Ginny had cast Muffliato so she and Harry could talk in privacy. "I wonder what Ginny and Harry are talking about," she said.

"Oh, probably the same thing we were," said Remus.

They waited. Hermione felt like she should say something but wasn't sure what. She yawned and decided that this must be what zombies felt like.

Shortly after seven, Harry and Ginny emerged from the bedroom, Ginny looking pleased with herself and Harry as if his ears were ringing. They were, Hermione noted, holding hands. She made a note to ask Ginny precisely what she'd said to Harry.

"It's after seven," said Harry. "The canteen's open. Let's go."

Hermione frowned, remembering their last breakfast – first, its terrible quality, but second, that they had needed to pay for it. "I've got to call Angel before we can eat," she said, and forestalling Harry's objection, added, "He's got a code for the vending machines so we don't have to pay for things. Unless anyone has any Muggle money on them . . ."

Harry seemed willing to accept this delay and sat down in the chair without being asked. Ginny perched on the arm next to him, balancing delicately and yawning widely.

Hermione picked up the house phone, asking the receptionist to connect her to Angel. He answered on the fourth ring with a brusque, "Yeah."

"Angel, it's Hermione. I'm sorry to wake you –"

"I was up already."

"– but we need your code for the vending machines in the canteen."

"Going for breakfast?" Hermione could hear Angel thinking. "I have a better idea. Come up to my suite. It's on the ninth floor. Top floor. Whatever."

"We'll be there in ten minutes," she said, and hung up.

* * *

Angel's better idea turned out to be cooking breakfast for the group. He had appropriated the penthouse, which included a tiny but functional, if unstocked, kitchen. Neither Hermione nor Harry were any great shakes at magical cooking, so Remus stepped in to conjure food. "Bachelor cooking," he said. "You learn to feed yourself or you starve."

Angel methodically turned rashers of bacon in a frying pan. "Seems like that's the way it goes for everyone."

With great interest, Hermione watched him tend to breakfast. "You're a vampire," she said. "When did you learn to cook? Why'd you even bother? It's not as if you can eat it."

"I can eat," Angel said defensively. "Human food, not just O pos."

"But you're dead. You don't digest."

"Technically I'm _un_dead," Angel said, waving a chiding spatula at her. "It's a myth that vampires are just reanimated corpses. Those are zombies. We're demons, Hermione. Digestive system included." He paused. "And cooking's a useful skill anyway. It passes the time."

Shrewdly, Ginny observed, "And it helps you pass for human if that's what you're trying to do." Hermione blinked. It was an unusual kind of insight from Ginny.

Angel shrugged. "I spend my time around humans. It helps."

"Look at you!" Spike said gleefully from the doorway. "Aren't you just the little housevampire, cooking for all your pals. And you didn't invite me. I'm wounded, Angel, really I am. After all we've been through, and you - is that bacon I smell?" He rubbed his hands together, crowding into the tiny kitchenette. "I _love_ bacon."

"Do you have a reason for being here besides annoying me?" Angel asked, fishing the bacon out of the frying pan and setting it on a paper towel to drain.

Spike reached over and snagged a strip as Angel put it down. "Nope," he said happily.

Angel sighed.

Breakfast passed peaceably if not actually pleasantly. Harry worked his way through a plate of eggs and bacon and kept his attitude to himself. Remus and Angel shared war stories, with Ginny and Spike contributing more colorful details. Hermione gulped down two mugs of coffee and listened to the conversation around her, wishing her brain didn't feel like a waterlogged sponge.

After breakfast, Harry and Remus adjourned to the training room. Remus looked as if he wasn't quite sure what he was letting himself in for. "Don't kill him," Ginny said to Harry, who frowned in response.

"I won't," muttered Harry. He did look, however, as though he planned to settle some scores, thought Hermione. Still, she could understand Remus's line of thinking. If an officially sanctioned chance to attack the source of Harry's frustration helped him work through some of his issues, then a little roughing-up might be worth the pain.

She hoped that was the case, anyhow.

* * *

It was closer to ten in the morning when Lupin called the group down to the practice room. Hermione and Ginny were the first to arrive, finding Remus and Harry laying out the nine Hufflepuff cups in a careful line down the middle of the practice room floor. Remus looked a little battered – his robes and hair were mussed and he was sporting a small cut down the side of his face – but had a cheerful air. For his part, Harry looked grim as he set down cups, although after a moment of watching him Hermione recognized it as the usual mix of seriousness and determination he adopted before any complicated task. For now, at least, the anger that had been driving him was gone.

"All right, then?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked up, his expression softening as he saw Ginny. Hermione pressed her lips together, trying not to smile; for all the poking Remus had been doing, Ginny was proving far more effective at pulling Harry out of his snit.

"Hermione, Ginny, good," said Lupin. "The others should be here shortly. When they've arrived, we'll begin." Grimacing at the nearness of the silver, he dumped Slytherin's locket onto the floor at the end of the row of Hufflepuff cups.

"Did everything go all right when you were practicing?" Hermione asked, her voice coming out rather squeakily.

"Oh, yes. Quite well."

"Only there's a _cut_ on the side of your face, Remus . . ."

"Is there?" He rubbed at the side of his face, looking concerned. "Well, it's nothing to be concerned about."

"But you're _bleeding_," Hermione said. She pulled her wand. "_Episkey!_" The cut sealed up, leaving an inch-long pink mark.

The doors of the observation room swung open and Angel entered, followed closely by Spike. "Are we ready?" said Angel.

Remus looked at Harry. "Are we?"

Harry nodded. "I'm ready."

Angel gave Harry a measuring look. "Here," he said, pulling a battleaxe off one of the racks lining the practice room walls. "Use this one." He handed it to Harry, who experimentally hefted it a few times.

"All right," said Lupin. "We'll be in the observation room. Good luck, Harry."

The group, all but Harry, filed into the observation room, lining up before the glass. Angel, last in, closed the door behind them. Ginny stared at Harry as if she could will him strength through the glass. On Hermione's right, Spike bounced slightly on his toes, an air of contained glee about him.

Under her breath, Hermione said to Remus, "Do you really think he can do this?"

"I think he's more than capable of swinging an axe, yes."

"That's not what –"

"You meant, I know. He's not what he was, true, but he might be able to if he believes he can."

"He's never been able to before."

"I suppose we'll find out, then."

Angel muttered, "I hope that axe isn't too heavy for him."

Hermione doubted it. In the practice room, Harry held the axe loosely at his side, staring down at Slytherin's locket, rage darkening his face. After a moment, he raised the axe; remembering what the locket was capable of, Hermione quickly closed her eyes and plugged her ears with her fingers. White light broke over her like a wave. When she opened her eyes, she saw Harry, a satisfied expression on his face, standing over the remains of Slytherin's locket, axe on the floor beside him.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny breathed. Hermione bit her lip.

Harry prowled in a circle around the tidy line of cups and the broken locket, the same darkness that Hermione had seen in Remus gathering on his face. She wondered what he was thinking of, what made him so sure that he could cast the Killing Curse. Face contorted with fury, Harry stopped, drawing in a deep breath –

Hermione held her breath –

With one fluid movement, Harry drew his wand, pointing it at the locket, yelling, "_Avada Kedavra!_" Green light erupted from his wand, blinding Hermione. Had he done it? She blinked hard and her vision cleared, revealing the locket – still in two pieces but otherwise unharmed.

Frustration rising in his voice, Harry cried, "_Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_" Each attempt seemed weaker than the previous.

Beside Hermione, Lupin went solemnly resolute. "Excuse me," he murmured, brushing past Spike and Angel and out the observation room door. Sidling up next to Harry, he pointed his wand at the untouched halves of the locket. "_Avada Kedavra_," Lupin said, his voice clear. The same blaze of green light bloomed from his wand.

With a loud _crack!_, the locket tarnished and died.

Harry wheeled on Lupin, clearly furious. "I should have done that! You had – that should have been me!"

"Shoulds shoe no horses," Lupin said calmly, and Hermione burst into hysterical giggles at the incongruity of the remark. Lupin continued, "You should be glad that you cannot cast the Killing Curse. The things one must have seen to be able to perform the curse –"

"You don't even know! You don't know what's happened to me!"

"Nor do you know what I have been through in my lifetime. I assure you, Harry, I speak from experience."

"It's almost reassuring," said Ginny, watching the argument keenly.

Hermione glanced sideways. "You too?"

"What?" Spike asked.

"Seeing him be such a bonehead." Ginny snorted. "Better than all the shouting."

"You mean he's always like this? Yelling like a toddler who's had his favorite toy taken away from him?"

"When he's angry? Pretty much."

Spike considered. "Still better than Angel."

In the training room, Harry continued to rant, the measure of self-control he'd managed to regain slipping away from him. Hermione tapped on the glass, catching Remus's attention. _Stop him_, she mouthed.

Remus shrugged and raised his eyebrows slightly, a _How do you propose I do that?_ sort of gesture.

"This has gone on long enough," Angel said. Barging into the training room, he said, "I know you're upset, but there's still another Horcrux in there. We need to get this done so we can move on."

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?" roared Harry.

"Then get to work. Screaming isn't going to destroy those Horcruxes. You've got to just keep moving. Look –" Angel's voice went gentler. "There's – I know your life's kind of a mess right now. Hermione's told me some things about what you've been through. There's a prophecy about you?"

Harry swallowed. "Yeah."

"And the fate of the world depends on you."

Harry nodded.

"I can't – I'm not going to lie to you. That's a tough place to be." Angel shifted and leaned against a wall. "I knew a girl once. She was sixteen. Up against the toughest fight of her life and she found out there was a prophecy saying she wouldn't survive it. She didn't take it well. Screamed, threw things, tried to run away."

"Is there a point –"

"I'm getting there. She was upset. Not unreasonable. But she got her crossbow and she went after the Master. And she beat him, in the end. The point is, it's all right to be scared and angry. But you can't give in to the fear and the pain. You have to fight it and do what needs to be done, or else the world is gonna end. Well," Angel amended, "maybe not so much in your case. But you get what I mean."

From the look on his face, Harry had clearly gotten it, but was unwilling to admit it. Angel smiled slightly and said, "So you can't cast this killing curse thing. It's – I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but it's better that you can't. Killing is . . . it's not for people like you. There should be a better way."

"Not when it's justified. Not when it's the right thing to do. Not when you _have_ to."

"Then save it for when you have to. I've killed a lot of people, Harry, some that I had to and a lot that I didn't. I live with the guilt from every one of those every day. This?" Angel gestured at the Hufflepuff cups and the ruined locket. "I know it seems like a case where you have to, but it's not. Save it for Voldemort."

Mulishly, Harry said, "I should still have been able –"

"But you can't, so just accept that you can't and move on."

Harry's bottom lip jutted out slightly, but he nodded.

Lupin dug in his pocket and produced a watch. Checking the time, he said, "Ready to start again, Harry?"

"Let's go," Harry said, looking resolute.

Angel and Lupin retreated to the observation room. Harry took a deep breath, picked up the axe, held it for a moment, and then buried it in the first Hufflepuff cup.

The room plummeted into total darkness. Hermione waved a hand in front of her face and couldn't even detect a movement. Beside her, Ginny said, "What's going on? I can't see anything."

"Probably just a power cut," said Angel. "Emergency lights should kick in."

The group waited. When no emergency lights immediately flickered on, Spike said, "Or not. Any other bright ideas there, mate?"

"Shut up."

Hermione fumbled for her wand. "_Lumos!_" She couldn't decide if she was surprised or not when her wand failed to light.

"This is like that battle at Hogwarts, fifth year," said Ginny, alarm in her voice. "When Draco Malfoy let off all that Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It was all dark and our wands didn't work."

"At the Riddle house. The last room was like this," Angel said. From his tone of voice, Hermione could tell he was frowning. "All dark. I only found that cup because I walked into it."

"So that's the booby trap." Hermione sighed. "Now what?"

"I strongly suspect that the only way to lift the darkness will be to destroy the cup," Lupin said.

Hermione heard the sound of the door to the observation room opening and then bodies colliding. "Watch out," Angel said. "That's me."

"Watch the hands there, mate," said Spike.

"Sorry," Harry said, as Lupin said, "Crave pardon."

"Be careful, Remus," Hermione said, turning toward where she thought he might be.

"I always am."

"Don't set off any other Horcruxes."

"I don't intend to."

Hermione waited tensely in the darkness. She could feel Ginny fidgeting beside her. From the practice room, she heard a great deal of shuffling and thumping and even a muffled oath. "Are you all right?" she called.

"Yes, thank you, Hermione," Remus said, with a wince in his voice.

"Nervous?" Ginny murmured.

Hermione sighed. "Aren't you?" It wasn't the darkness that was making her nervous, she thought, so much as it was that eight cups remained and the likelihood that each of them could contain booby traps more dangerous than simple darkness. The entire time they'd been searching for Horcruxes, she'd been waiting for them to hit the dangerous part, the part of the fight that would inflict massive casualties. This could well be it, she knew, and it made her antsy.

In the practice room, the bumps continued, until abruptly the room lit up putrid green as Lupin cried, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Abruptly, the overhead lights flickered back on. Ginny winced and covered her eyes; Hermione stood there blinking dumbly until her vision cleared enough to allow her to see Lupin standing in the practice room, pushing at the remains of the first Hufflepuff cup with one foot. "Not the Horcrux," he reported.

The cup had certainly been mangled and mutilated by the spell, but Remus was right, it didn't have the tarnished look Hermione associated with destroyed Horcruxes.

"Perhaps it'll be the next one," she said, hoping that for Harry's sake it would be.

"Perhaps." Remus kicked the shattered false cup aside and said, "Harry? Let's try this again."

The next cup, when Harry smashed it with the axe, produced a crowd of Inferi. Harry, who hated Inferi, started shouting, "_Reducto! Impedimenta!_" and firing curses in all directions, succeeding mostly in collapsing weapons racks and blowing holes in the walls.

Hermione was nearly bowled over by Ginny, who then collided with Angel in her haste to get to Harry. Lupin wasn't far behind her, crying, "Hold your fire, Harry!" Hermione bit her lip – she too was less than fond of Inferi – and then plunged through the door and into the fight, shouting, "You have to use fire against them, Harry, remember! _Incendio_!"

Destroying the Horcruxes devolved into a team effort after that. The cup continued to spawn Inferi at a prodigious rate, keeping any of the four wizards from casting Avada Kedavra at it, lest they be mobbed by zombies in the time it took to cast the spell. Angel and Spike waded into the fight, providing cover for Lupin. Although they couldn't destroy the Inferi, they could keep them busy, and working together, they managed to clear enough space for Lupin to cast the Killing Curse on the cup.

The next Hufflepuff cup produced snakes, dozens – if not hundreds – of them, carpeting the floor of the training room. Hermione, who loathed snakes after being Petrified by that basilisk second-year, froze. Even Angel and Spike looked uneasy at the writhing mass of snakes.

To Hermione's surprise, Ginny snorted in disgust. "Always snakes with him," she said, voice scornful.

Hermione attempted to swallow and couldn't manage it, her mouth having gone completely dry. She noticed that every one of the snakes conjured by the cup was venomous or at least extremely dangerous. Cobras. Rattlesnakes. Black mambas. Copperheads. Pythons. Even an enormous anaconda as thick around as Angel's thigh.

Harry frowned down at the snakes surrounding him, particularly a rattlesnake that was coiled dangerously and rattling its tail vigorously, and hissed something.

The rattler backed off.

Harry hissed something else. The mass of snakes hissed in return and Harry quickly seemed to be embroiled in an argument.

"What's he doing?" asked Angel.

"He's a Parselmouth," Hermione said.

"He talks to snakes," Ginny added, deadpan.

Angel looked annoyed. "I can tell _that_. What do you think he's doing now?"

"With some luck, convincing these snakes not to kill us," said Remus, looking discomfited as a cobra slithered past his ankle.

"Doesn't seem to be going too well," Spike observed.

Hermione licked her lips and watched Harry, who was scowling, continue to negotiate with the rattlesnake.

"They want to make a deal," Harry said after a moment.

"What sort, Harry?" Lupin asked.

"They'll let us have the Horcrux."

"That's good," said Ginny.

"In exchange for one of us."

"That's not."

Lupin frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do they mean, one of us?"

"Obvious, innit?" said Spike. "In exchange for getting to sink their fangs into your tender, juicy flesh, they'll let you have the Horcrux."

Harry nodded.

Hermione looked at the line of Hufflepuff cups, guarded by a group of coral snakes, and pursed her lips.

"No deal," Ginny said immediately.

"Wait," Lupin said, sharing a significant look with Angel.

Hermione exclaimed, "You can't be serious!"

"It won't hurt me," Angel said patiently. "Well . . . much. Well – it won't kill me. The snakes get what they want, we get what we want. Win-win."

"Or we could use Spike," said Ginny.

Spike threw his hands up in protest. "Hang on just a moment, now. I came over here for a fight, mind you. Not to get chomped on by snakes. Have you ever been bitten by a snake? I have. It _hurts_. A _lot_."

Hermione frowned. It might have made tactical sense, but she didn't like the idea of deliberately feeding someone to a snake, vampire or not. "Will they accept another deal?"

Harry hissed at the snakes. "No."

She'd suspected as much, but had to ask anyway. It wouldn't be a good trap if one could barter one's way out of danger. "I don't like it," she said, "but we haven't got a choice."

Remus nodded at Harry. "Tell them we'll take the deal."

After a great deal of hissing from Harry and the snakes, a black mamba slithered over to Angel and coiled, waiting. Angel rolled up a sleeve and didn't even flinch as the snake struck, sinking its fangs into his arm. Then his mouth and eyes went wide and, clutching at his chest, he crashed to the floor and was still.

The snakes moved away from the Hufflepuff cup. Acting quickly, Lupin cast Avada Kedavra at the cup, which skitterd across the floor from the force of the spell.

The snakes vanished.

Groaning, Angel pushed himself to his feet. "Remind me never to volunteer to get bitten by a snake again."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, frowning. "You looked –"

"I'm all right. The venom didn't go far. No heartbeat – no circulation." Angel flexed his arm slightly and scowled. "This stuff burns a little, though."

"Oh, whine, whine," scoffed Spike. "You're carrying on as if you had your hands cut off or something."

"Didn't you just finish saying that getting bit by a snake hurts a lot?" Ginny asked.

Ignoring her, Spike turned to Remus. "That was fun. What's next?"

"I'm not sure," Lupin said, pushing gently at the remains of the cup. "I think this may have been the Horcrux."

As a group, they clotted around the cup, peering speculatively down at its remains. Hermione thought Lupin might be right; it certainly had that tarnished, wizened look about it that all the destroyed Horcruxes had in common. Angel agreed, but added, "Should do them all, just to be sure."

"Ready, Harry?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded.

One by one, they dispatched the remaining six cups. By the end of it, Hermione was feeling as if she'd been through a prolonged battle. One of the cups, when Harry cast Avada Kedavra on it, melted down into a rapidly spreading pool of greenish, smoking acid. Only Harry's quick Hover Charm saved him from losing his trainers. Another cup, when it was attacked, emitted a flash of light that paralyzed them all for close to an hour. The cup after that turned into a swarm of bees.

Hermione's least favorite cup was the one that lit up like a supernova, blinding them, whiting out the room with a light that burned on the skin like being scalded. It probably took Lupin no longer than a minute to destroy the cup, but it felt like ten years of being under the Cruciatus – worse than the Cruciatus, like being under Cruciatus while submerged in an acid vat, like being under Cruciatus while submerged in an acid vat and being set on fire. When it was over, Hermione only just made it to the wastebasket before becoming violently sick, emptying her stomach and then continuing to have the dry heaves for several more agonizing seconds. Angel and Spike were curled on the floor, not moving, and even Remus seemed near to sobbing. The only upside, as far as Hermione was concerned, was that now the Cruciatus Curse should seem like a resort vacation compared to that.

By common consent, after all the Horcruxes were destroyed, everyone took an hour to rest and recover before regrouping in Angel's office to discuss strategy. Wesley turned up with a stack of books. Remus spread his sheaf of parchments and maps over the conference table, huddling together with Angel and Wesley, forming and reforming battle plans. Harry and Ginny conferred quietly in one corner of the room. Hermione, feeling as if the top of her head was about to pop off, reread debriefs about Castle Yfelwulf obsessively, tossing observations into the discussion group at the end of the table.

The phone on Angel's desk rang. Frowning, Angel answered, listened for a moment, said, "We'll be right there," and then hung up. "Visitors," he announced.

"Neville?" Hermione asked.

"Emily didn't say. Come on, let's go."

As a group, they trooped out to the lobby. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw who was standing there. Beside her, Harry pulled his wand, clearly ready to hex first and ask questions not at all.

Standing across from them, flanked by eight Death Eaters, was Lucius Malfoy, a smugly superior look on his face.

"Good afternoon, Minister Malfoy," Lupin said calmly.

"We know who you are," Malfoy said imperiously. "We know what you're doing. Come with us and we may be lenient."

Discreetly, Hermione put a hand on her wand. All around her, the others were in various states of readiness for battle – she could feel Angel and Spike concentrating on Malfoy and the Death Eaters. Only Lupin seemed at ease, frowning politely at Lucius Malfoy in manufactured confusion.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Surely it isn't unlawful for us to seek legal –"

"Don't try to pretend, Lupin. It's a insult to both of us. You're a terrorist and you stand accused of leading an insurgent organization, attacking Ministry personnel, breaking into Ministry facilities, steaking valuable Ministry artifacts, harboring dark creatures –"

"I beg your pardon," said Spike.

"He means me," Lupin said.

"– treason, and slander," Malfoy finished with a sneer. "I would advise you to come with us."

"Does he think we're stupid?" Ginny demanded.

"Plausible deniability," said Angel. "That's what this is about. When they attack, they can say they gave us a chance to surrender and we didn't take it."

"Look around you, Lupin," Lucius Malfoy said. "You're outnumbered. The last time you fought my Aurors, you lost. This is your last chance. _Come with us_."

"Is there a class all villains take to make them talk like this?" Spike interjected. "You need a mustache, mate. So you can twirl it."

"It's hardly less cliche to joke about villains twirling mustaches," pointed out Wesley.

"I'm afraid we won't be coming with you," Remus said to Malfoy. "Good day, Minister." He turned as if to head back into Angel's office. Before he could take a step, Malfoy and his Death Eaters had their wands out and pointed at him. The room erupted into cacophony as twelve people cried out spells – the Death Eaters were shooting to kill, but Hermione heard Ginny cast a Bat-Bogey Hex and Harry go for a Stunner. She waited for the lines of light to lance out, strike Remus –

Nothing happened. The Death Eaters looked confused and even a little frightened, mirroring how Hermione felt. Lupin turned around again, looking coolly collected and as if he'd expected the situation. Into the silence, Wesley said, "For the protection of our clients, Wolfram and Hart enjoins hostile uses of magic inside the building."

For just a moment, Malfoy looked disconcerted. Then his face smoothed out into its usual smug expression and he said, "That's as may be, but we have Aurors outside the building. They'll be putting up Anti-Apparition wards once we leave the premises. You can't stay in here forever. Good day, Lupin." With a stiff nod, Malfoy and the Death Eaters swept out of the lobby.

"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish," Spike said dryly.

"What are our options?" Lupin asked, looking at Angel.

"Wait them out. Fight our way out. Or –" Angel looked grimly amused – "let one of the drivers chauffeur us to a safe house."

The plan developed rapidly from there. Harry protested that they would be too easy to track in one car, and after a brief discussion, they divided into four groups. Ginny ran upstairs to pack, while Wesley excused himself to search for Illyria. Ten minutes later, luggage having been swapped around and Illyria found on the fourth floor communing with a potted fern, they were ready to go.

Angel led the group down to the garage, where four drivers stood ready next to four cars. "All right," said Lupin. "Good luck, everyone. I'll contact you when I've reached a safe house. Don't stop for anything until I've contacted you and you know you're not being followed. Gentlemen, whenever you're ready," he said to the drivers.

Hermione's car would be leaving third, meaning she had ten minutes to wait. Somehow, she had ended up partnered with Illyria for the escape. She braced herself for endless questions about good and evil – or anything that entered Illyria's purview – but after one haughty and disinterested glance, Illyria seemed content to stare into space in silence.

As her car exited the garage, Hermione realized she was holding her breath from nerves and forced herself to breathe normally. No attacks rained down immediately upon them, but, craning her neck to see through the back window, she saw a Ministry of Magic car pull smoothly away from the curb and merge into a nonexistent gap in traffic behind them.

_Are they following all cars that leave the building as a matter of principle, or have they figured us out?_ Hermione wondered.

The Ministry car stayed with them as they worked their way southeast through city traffic. _Do they plan to follow us all the way to Dover?_ thought Hermione, and then to distract herself from her nervousness, she said, "Where do you go?"

Illyria refocused on her and gave her a stern blue gaze. "I do not understand."

"We haven't always been able to find you recently," said Hermione. "Where have you been?"

Illyria went back to staring out the window at the passing cars as they sped down the A20. "Am I not free to pass my time as I wish?"

"Well, yes, I just wanted –"

"I walk," Illyria said with chill disdain. "I must learn to suffer this world, so I walk in it. Your concerns do not require much of my time."

Hermione knit her brows together. Illyria was claiming boredom with the whole affair. But that didn't seem right – back in Los Angeles, Illyria had been emphatic that it wanted to come along. And hadn't it a week ago been brimming with questions about Voldemort and his schemes? This sudden ennui was perplexing.

"Where do you walk?" Hermione tried again.

"Where I wish."

Pursing her lips, Hermione reflected that she might as well try to wring blood from a turnip or water from a stone. Illyria was obviously stonewalling her, but why? What was it planning? Hermione scowled and joined Illyria in staring out the window.

They were nearly to Folkestone and Hermione was debating whether to run to France when her phone rang. "Birmingham," Lupin said, and hung up.

Hermione said, "Stop the car. Pull over."

In the rear-view mirror, she could see for just a moment the driver think, _What, here?_ but all he said was, "Yes, miss." As soon as the car came to a stop, Hermione grabbed Illyria's arm and focused on the small flat in a side street the Order had rented as a safe house. With a _crack!_ she and Illyria reappeared behind a Dumpster. Holding her breath to avoid the smell, Hermione edged between the bins and headed for the stairs.

Lupin opened the door at her knock, looking relieved to see her. "Good to see you've made it," he said, ushering them inside. "There's just –" He was interrupted by a _crack!_ and some banging noises. "That'll be Harry and Wesley."

Hermione, towing Illyria, stepped into the main room to find Ginny staring anxiously out the window. Spike and Angel were nowhere to be seen. Hermione smelled the faint stink of burning flesh and grimaced sympathetically. Midday escapes were tough on vampires.

Lupin cleared his throat softly as he stepped into the room, followed by Harry and Wesley. "Have any of our friends followed us?"

"Probably," Ginny said from the window, letting the curtain drop, "but they're not making themselves obvious."

"So what's our next step?" Wesley asked. He rubbed his forehead.

"We go after Voldemort," Harry said roughly. "Tonight. We've destroyed all the Horcruxes we can. We're ready."

"I, for one, would feel more comfortable waiting until tomorrow night," Lupin said.

"Why?" demanded Harry. "He knows we're coming. We can't keep that a surprise any more, so we might as well go quickly and give him less time to prepare for us."

Wesley said, "It might be prudent to allow Angel and Spike some time to rest and recover."

"And waiting gives us time to gather more information. I understand your concern, Harry, but there are still things we need to know, things that will get us killed if we don't know them." Lupin looked grim.

"What are you proposing we do?" asked Hermione.

"I think it's time for our informant to pay us a visit."

* * *

The sun was low in the sky before Hermione heard a knock at the door. She rose to answer it, but Remus held out a cautioning hand and answered the door himself. "This had better be worth it," a male voice said from outside. "You would not _believe_ the excuses I had to make to get out of there."

"Good evening," Lupin said, opening the door further. A tall, heavyset man with iron-gray hair and a deeply lined face stepped inside, looking peevishly around at the assembled group.

"This way," said Lupin, taking the man by the arm and signalling Hermione to follow him. Ginny fell into step beside Hermione and said, at Hermione's raised eyebrows, "You need me. I can think of things you won't."

_And you're curious_, Hermione thought, but she didn't say anything.

Once the four of them were ensconced in one of the flat's bedrooms, Lupin said, "We're going into Castle Yfelwulf tomorrow. That's why I summoned you. It will be worth it to you."

Looking around grumpily, the gray-haired man said, "You'd better not get me killed, any of you. If I wind up dead, I'll know who to blame."

"Less stalling," said Ginny sharply. "More talking."

"Ask me a question and I'll start talking."

For three-quarters of an hour, they did. Lupin asked questions steadily, as if going down a list, while Hermione pressed for more information when she felt that the gray-haired man wasn't being complete enough in his answers. Ginny asked fewer questions but was useful in another way: her willingness to match the gray-haired man barb for barb helped to keep him answering questions when he started to veer off into insults.

They had covered Castle Yfelwulf's defenses, its residents, Voldemort's schedule, how to get access to Nagini, potential allies on the inside, major threats and how Voldemort took his tea before Remus finally seemed to run out of steam. "Can either of you think of anything else to ask?" Lupin asked. The gray-haired man frowned belligerently at them from his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione met Remus's eyes and said slowly, "I think that we need to know who you really are."

The man spluttered. "Of all the crazy things you've said, Granger, that's the craziest. The point of being a secret agent is that my identity is a _secret_."

"No, I think she's right," Ginny said.

Hermione pointed out, "You're going to be in Castle Yfelwulf when we go in tomorrow. Obviously, you don't look like that when you're not meeting with us. We need to know who you are so we don't go in wands blazing and accidentally shoot you."

Scowling, the man said, "_He_ knows who I am. He can tell you not to shoot me."

Flatly, Ginny said, "We're going to find out eventually. It might as well be now."

The gray-haired man shot an exasperated look at Lupin, who shrugged. "They're both right."

"I should have known better than to trust a werewolf," the man muttered. "Fine. When the Dark Lord finds me and kills me, I want you to know it'll be your fault." He pulled out a silver pocketwatch and checked the time. "This will wear off in about five minutes."

The four of them sat for five of the longest minutes in Hermione's life, the man scowling blackly at all of them, Ginny fidgeting nervously. "Now," said the man, and he grimaced as the Potion wore off. His hair lightened, went blond; his features changed, growing pointy; when it was all over, Hermione was wholly unsurprised to find herself staring at Draco Malfoy.

"Well?" said Malfoy with his usual sneer.

"I thought so," Ginny said, looking rather disgusted. "No one else could be as repugnant as you."

"No one asked for your opinion, Weasley."

"So you finally smartened up and joined our side," said Hermione. "Congratulations, Malfoy. It's probably the first clever thing I've ever seen you do."

"Finally? _Finally_?" Malfoy elaborately rolled his eyes. "I've been passing information to the werewolf there for two years. There's no finally about this, Granger."

"I'm surprised to see you doing the right thing for once."

Malfoy seemed insulted for a moment, then he chortled gleefully. "Are you that deluded, Granger? Do you really think I'm doing this for the sake of what's right and good? I'm not doing this because I want to help out Potter, that moron you keep trotting around as your last best hope. I'm doing this because I want to screw _him_ the way he screwed _me_."

"Him?" said Ginny.

"Don't be thick, Weasley." Malfoy snorted. "Although I suppose you can't help it, mother like that. The _Dark Lord_. That 'him'."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, although she had her own theories.

Malfoy made a face. "When I was younger, I thought the Dark Lord recruited me because I'd be useful to him. He told me how I was 'special' and 'only I could perform the task that now lay before me.' I bought it. Idiot. I realized later. He only assigned me to kill Dumbledore because he knew I couldn't. He set me up to fail to punish my father for failing _him_. He _used_ me. _No one_ uses a Malfoy like that."

"So this is all for petty revenge?" Ginny asked, looking unconvinced.

"It's not revenge. And it's not _petty_."

"It is! Voldemort made you look like a chump, which isn't that hard if you ask me, and now you want to make him pay. That's pretty much the definition of revenge."

"It is not." Malfoy looked mulish.

"That's not all there is to it, though, isn't there, Malfoy?" asked Hermione. "You've got a toehold with both sides. If we win, you're a war hero who turned traitor and spied on the Death Eaters. We couldn't _possibly_ send you to Azkaban."

"I had thought of that," said Malfoy smugly.

"And if we lose, you're the cunning double agent who manipulated us to our downfall." Ginny curled a lip.

Malfoy's smug look grew insufferable.

"Don't give me that look," Ginny said, face and voice hard. "You're only doing this to save yourself. You know you picked the losing side and now you're clinging to us because you know we won't kill you if you fail us, unlike Voldemort. You're despicable."

Malfoy scoffed. "And you're so much better? At least the Death Eaters are straightforward about being evil. I know what you all do. You lie and you kill and you torture and you tell yourselves it's all right because you're doing it for _good_. Say what you want about me. I never locked anyone I loved in a dungeon and left them to rot."

"You shut up," Ginny snapped.

"That's enough," Lupin said. "Maps, Mr. Malfoy. I want updated maps. Floor plans. Anything you can provide me. And I want them as soon as you're able to provide them."

"How am I supposed to get them to you? It's not as if I can send an owl."

"Find a way."

"You're just _trying_ to get me killed now, aren't you?"

Ignoring him, Remus asked, "Is that it? Are we done here?"

"Done enough for me," Ginny said with loathing. "Get out."

"Good to see the Weasley charm and manners in you," sneered Malfoy.

"That's enough," Lupin repeated. "Come on, Mr. Malfoy. I'll see you out."

Once Lupin and Malfoy had left the room, Ginny said, "I was _really_ hoping he wasn't the informant. I mean, I knew it probably was him, but I was hoping it wasn't." She managed to look both morose and disgusted.

"He's been useful," Hermione said, trying to be evenhanded, although privately she agreed with Ginny. "He saved our lives in Bath. He might only have done it to preserve his chances at revenge, but he did it."

"He's still a miserable little wanker and I don't want a thing to do with him once this is all over."

"I doubt he'll be clamoring to spend time with you either."

"I hate this," Ginny said without much force behind the words. "Come on, let's go see what there is to eat in this place."

* * *

Although Malfoy had been unpleasant about the entire encounter, he proved the worth of his word. A barn owl bearing a packet of maps and a letter for Lupin arrived halfway through dinner, and before long plates were set aside as the meal turned into a final planning session.

With Wesley's help, they laid out their final plans for attack. With only eight of them, it wasn't going to be a grand multi-targeted invasion, but they were able to pick out some weak points and plan ways to capitalize on them. Wesley shrugged off their thanks, noting wryly, "It's hardly like planning the invasion of Normandy."

"More like planning the charge of the Light Brigade," Spike observed, making Hermione wince.

"With luck, we won't be facing cannon," Remus said calmly.

The meeting broke up around nine in the evening, and all good intentions, Hermione headed for bed immediately afterwards, knowing she needed a good night's sleep before tomorrow's assault on Castle Yfelwulf. Nerves kept her awake, though, despite her exhaustion, and she had finally pulled out her knitting needles, deciding that if she couldn't sleep she might as well do something useful with her time.

She was nearly done with a hat for Maddy – it was blue, not pink, but she could use a Color-Changing Charm on it and Fleur would never know – when there was a knock on her door. Wrapping her dressing gown around herself, Hermione padded over and cracked the door. "Remus?" she said, pulling the door open all the way.

He looked up at her from under his brows. "Hermione –" he started, and then paused, tucking his hands into his pockets and immediatelly pulling them out again.

Hermione frowned slightly but said nothing. Nervousness like this was uncharacteristic on Remus, even the night before a major raid like the one they had planned.

He shook his head and stood up straight. "I need to talk to you. There's something I want you to know."

She felt the frown deepening on her face. _Is he going to_ –

Remus said, "I know we'd agreed that we had to stop seeing one another. I know that. And I meant it, I honestly believed that we could – that I was over you, that we would just be friends. These past two years, when you were away . . . it was easy to tell myself that I'd only been using you and it wasn't right. But, Hermione –"

He looked at the floor. Hermione recognized the gesture and realized she knew exactly what he was about to say. _Oh mercy, he _is.

"I was wrong," Remus said after a moment. "Spending this time together, talking to you, I realized I wasn't over you – I was never over you. You remember the last time, the fight we had –"

"Yes."

"I said that whatever we had, it wasn't love."

"Yes."

"And that we should stop acting like it was."

"Yes."

Finally, Remus met her eyes. "It was love. It always has been, the whole time. I'm in love with you, Hermione."

Hermione opened her mouth, realized she wasn't sure what to say, and closed it again. The fact that she'd known he was going to say it from the moment she opened her door didn't blunt the impact of actually hearing him say it. "Is now really the best time for this?" she asked quietly.

"There might not be another time."

"'Who knows but the world may end to-night,'" said Hermione, with a touch of asperity.

Remus smiled slightly. "I didn't want to regret not having told you."

She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible as she asked, "Would you have told me if you didn't think you were going to die?"

The question took Remus aback; Hermione saw his eyes widen as he thought about it. "Eventually," he allowed.

Hermione covered her face with both hands, utterly adrift. Her relationship with Remus – if it could even properly be called that; it was less a relationship and more a series of assignations – had always been emotionally fraught. They had started sleeping together in the summer of 1999, drawn together by their mutual grief; hers over Ron's death, his over Tonks's murder. Most of that year had been a waking nightmare that she had drifted through in a haze of loss and sorrow. Being with Remus had, for a little while, made her feel less alone, had had a narcotic effect upon the pain. Eventually, they'd realized that putting off dealing with their grief was just making it worse and had agreed to stop seeing each other.

Except they hadn't. Their rendezvous had continued for three years after that, at irregular intervals. The only thing that had finally put an end to their encounters was her break from the Order's fight to search for a different way. She had never been sure what had kept bringing them together – loneliness? Regret? Lingering grief? Or something more?

She thought back. _Had_ it been love that drew them together? At the time, she had thought her ability to love had been buried with Ron and it was merely her own weakness that kept landing her in Remus's bed. _Some women only love once_, she had said to Ginny. _I'm one of them_. It had seemed _disloyal_ somehow to carry on with someone else or admit to the possibility of another relationship. Like Ron knew somehow and disapproved.

Now, she wasn't sure. She couldn't deny that a part of her still grieved for Ron and might always ache for him; even five years later, she still felt the pangs of his loss. But the sense that she was dishonoring his memory, that she was upsetting him, had faded. Hermione considered. Was it possible to move on without realizing you were doing it?

She hesitated, consulted her feelings, and then decided to jump. "I think you'd better come in," she said. Remus looked up, surprise and a certain hope in his eyes, and then stepped into her room.

The door shut behind him with a crisp snap.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So there it is, chapter nine. I apologize for the inevitable disappointment.

There will be one more chapter and an epilogue after this. I'm afraid I can't offer much in the way of a target date for posting.

Reviews, flames and rotten produce welcome.


	10. The City of End and Endlessness

**Author's Note**: No, I can't believe it myself.

* * *

Chapter Ten  
_The City of End and Endlessness_

"Nine minutes to midnight," Remus said, checking his pocket watch by the flame of Spike's cigarette lighter.

Hermione tugged on the edge of her black knit cap. Castle Yfelwulf loomed before them, the bulk of the castle casting shadows across the moat. In the bright moonlight, she could see the castle fairly clearly. _It looks like a storybook picture_, she thought, complete with crenelated battlements and towers rising from the corners of the keep walls. The Death Eaters pacing the tops of the curtain wall spoiled the illusion, though.

"Doesn't like visitors, does he?" Spike said, watching the Death Eaters.

"Doesn't know a thing about defense," Angel grumbled. "Look at this. Blind spots everywhere."

"I like blind spots," Wesley said dryly, with a glance at Remus. "They make things easier."

"Come on," Ginny said. "This is Lord Voldemort. When has he ever gone for practicality over show?"

On Ginny's other side, Harry twitched slightly, whether from impatience or bad memories Hermione wasn't sure. Ginny brushed up against him reassuringly.

Lupin pulled a folded-up map from his pocket and consulted it. "Entry point is on the right side, towards the back. Wards will be down in –" he checked his pocket watch again – "seven minutes. Everyone ready? This way."

Hermione breathed deeply and trotted after him. Ginny fell into step beside her, glanced up at the guards, tossed her head and shot Hermione a small grin. All fearless determination, Harry pushed ahead and marched behind Lupin. Illyria trailed behind the group; Hermione glanced back and was unnerved by the coolly thoughtful, speculative look on its face.

They hastened along, aware that even in black and in the shadow of the castle they were still eight very highly visible blobs. Lupin watched the map as they moved, finally gesturing them to a stop near the back of the keep. "Here's the spot," he said quietly. "Wards will be down in two minutes. Everyone sure on the plan?"

It was Malfoy's plan, which meant Hermione didn't like it, but they hadn't had the time to come up with anything else. The teams of Death Eaters assigned to watch the ramparts changed at midnight. This tower was furthest from where the team started their patrol, giving the group a three or four minute window to vault the castle wall from the blind spot at the base of the tower. Normally a complicated set of wards prevented unexpected visitors from setting foot inside the keep, but Malfoy had arranged for the wards to drop for four minutes at midnight. Provided they worked quickly enough, they could be inside the keep once the wards went back up, and the wards would then recognize them as authorized residents of Castle Yfelwulf. From there, it was on them to infiltrate further into the castle.

"Into the water," Lupin said, after one last check of his pocket watch, and he dropped into the water with a quiet splash. Ginny traded a rueful look with Hermione – this had been her least favorite part of the plan – and stepped off the embankment. Sighing, Hermione plunged into the black water and paddled toward the other side.

She was nearly there when she felt a small shudder ripple through the water as the wards came down. _Four minutes starts now_, she thought, and lunged for the other side of the moat. Wesley swam over to her as she lifted her wand out of the water and jabbed it at the wall, thinking _Vinculus!_

A sturdy rope shot out of the end of her wand, the end of the rope wrapping and tying around one of the crenelations on the curtain wall. Further down the wall, Remus and Ginny had their ropes up, with Harry's following a second later. Wesley caught the end of the rope nearest Hermione as it fell from her wand and tied it around himself. "Ready," he announced.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Hermione whispered, flicking her wand at Wesley. As he lifted out of the water, his eyes widened just slightly, but he quickly grabbed the rope and began hauling himself toward the parapets, moving quickly before the spell wore off. Along the wall, Angel, Spike and Illyria were making their way up to the top of the wall as well, Angel with his usual air of grim concentration, Spike taking a moment to flap his arms experimentally, and Illyria looking disgusted, as if flight were beneath its dignity.

Wesley's rope landed in the water in front of her, and immediately Hermione realized a problem: she couldn't tread water and tie the rope around herself at the same time, let alone cast a spell. She settled for awkwardly looping it around herself and tucking the end back into one of the loops and then, aiming her wand at herself as best she could, she cast again.

With the same lump of dread in her stomach that she got when flying on a broom, she lifted into the air and began pulling herself along the room. Water streamed down her legs as she moved along the rope. "Hurry, Hermione!" Ginny hissed – the rope was coming loose – Hermione swallowed and pulled faster – and then Angel was there, guiding her over the edge of the battlement and steadying her on her feet.

"Sixty seconds," Lupin said from where he was crouched behind a crenelation.

This next bit had seemed like a good idea when they were planning their entry, but faced with the reality of flinging herself off the side of a sixteen-foot high wall, Hermione was starting to doubt. Purple light flickered around Wesley as she cast the Cushioning Charm on him. "Go!" she said urgently. Looking dubious, Wesley jumped. Hermione recast the spell on herself, and then feeling as if she were wrapped in several layers of sofa cushions, she jumped.

She was in the air just long enough for blind terror to set in, a sort of hysterical screaming in the back of her head – _IT'S NOT WORKING IT'S NOT WORKING_ – and then she hit the ground. The impact was fairly hard, as if she'd taken a bad fall, but not the sort of bone-fracturing crash that should have resulted from a jump of that height. Hermione lay there for a moment, waiting for her heart to slow down and her legs to feel like they might be able to support her weight.

"Is it too late to call this off?" Ginny muttered. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to move again."

From where she lay sprawled on the ground, Hermione felt the second shudder that was the wards going back up. She held her breath, waiting for the shrieking or supernatural assault to start, but Castle Yfelwulf remained silent and dark. "All right?" Lupin asked, reaching a hand down to help her up. "We don't have long before the guards patrol this side of the keep."

Angel was already making for the wall of the castle keep, ducking as he passed under window sills, the rest of the group trailing after him. Remus put a steadying hand on Hermione's arm, who dusted herself off and nodded up at him.

This was the final piece of Malfoy's plan; after this, it was up to the group to infiltrate further. He had arranged to leave Goyle's bedroom window unlocked and unwarded, on the grounds that Goyle wouldn't notice. "Wouldn't notice the window being unlocked or a group of eight people coming in?" Hermione had asked, and Malfoy had rolled his eyes and said, "Both."

The team lined up under the window. "Ready?" Angel asked Harry, who had insisted on being the first one in.

"Go," Harry said. Together, Angel and Spike hefted Harry over the windowsill. There were two brief flashes of light from the window and then Harry reappeared. "Ready," he said.

Lifting the group into Goyle's room was surprisingly efficient, if somewhat awkward. One by one, Angel and Spike tossed the wizards, Wesley, and Illyria into the air. Hermione, third up, scrabbled frantically at the windowsill and then hung there for a terrifying moment until Harry and Ginny could hoist her up and in.

"I forgot you don't like heights," Ginny said under her breath, holding her lit wand up so Harry could see as he guided Wesley in.

"It's not the height," Hermione said. "It's the _fall_."

Behind her, Goyle snored peacefully.

Remus, last up, dropped ropes for Angel and Spike. Once the eight of them were packed into Goyle's narrow room, Lupin drew himself up, going into battle mode. "Everyone remember the plan?" he asked, eyes ticking over the group.

There were a series of nods from around the room. Hermione patted her hip to make sure the flask she was carrying hadn't been lost and reviewed the plan.

The greatest issue facing them was that they couldn't kill Voldemort without killing Nagini first, and Voldemort was fiercely protective of his snake – and would be triply so now, with the Order team known to be on the offensive and Nagini possibly the last obstacle preventing his permanent death. The snake stayed with Voldemort when he was in his throne room and traveled with him when he retired to his chambers – not to sleep; one of the most inhuman things about Voldemort was that he _never slept_ – to scheme in privacy.

There had been some debate the previous night about the best way to catch Nagini. Simply intercepting the snake on its own and killing it wasn't an option. Harry favored a typically straightforward Gryffindor solution: march in to Castle Yfelwulf, kill the snake and then kill Voldemort. Angel had suggested waiting for Voldemort in his chambers and then killing the snake and him. Spike outlined a Rube Goldbergian solution involving a series of pulleys and a greyhound collar – "it's got a separate loop, see, to attach the rope to, so the snake can't get away" – that they would then use to lynch Nagini, but from the glitter in his eyes, Hermione suspected he was merely amusing himself.

Wesley had been the primary architect of their final plan. Malfoy had told them that Voldemort had a squad of nine Nagini handlers, mid-level Death Eaters who were tasked with attending to Nagini's every need – food mostly, with the occasional rubdown with baby oil. The idea was, then, to intercept members of the Nagini squad and use Polyjuice to impersonate them, letting the team get close enough to Nagini to poison her. In the best case scenario, Voldemort was either in his quarters or would take Nagini and flee to his rooms, allowing them to fight him without having to wade through masses of Death Eaters. The worst case scenario was – Hermione shied away from that thought; it involved a close personal relationship with Nagini.

"All right," Remus said. "We've come too far for me to start lying now. This is the most dangerous thing we have ever done as an Order, and if we can do it right, it will be the most dangerous thing we ever will do as an Order. We may not all make it out of here. If one of us is injured, or detained, or even killed – we can't go back. Even if it's me. Try to stick to the plan, and if that's not possible –" He nodded once. "Do what you must to make sure our task is completed. All may yet be very well. Harry? Are you ready?"

"Let's go," Harry said. He reached under his shirt, shook out the Invisibility Cloak, swirled it around himself and vanished in a flutter of shimmery gray cloth.

"_Nox!_" Ginny said, flicking her wand, and the team were plunged into darkness. Hermione held her breath as the door to the hall creaked open just wide enough to admit a skinny young man. After a moment, Harry whispered, "All clear."

"Wait," Wesley said. Hermione heard a rustling sound as he pawed through the morass of discarded clothing coating Goyle's floor, and in the dim light of the open door she saw him hold up a shapeless wad of material. "These may serve as a disguise until we can use the Polyjuice."

After some hissed negotiations – Goyle's robes smelled of offal, blood and body odor, and no one really wanted to put them on – it was arranged that the wizards, save Harry, would go without robes, but the Wolfram & Hart team would be robed. As Angel pointed out, if anyone stopped them it made Hermione, Ginny and Lupin look like captives being escorted to the dungeons. Depending on which Death Eaters they met, they had about a fifty percent chance of escape. Finally they assembled and slipped out the door.

"Go, Harry," Lupin muttered.

This bit had been Ginny's idea. She had pointed out that as a group, they weren't exactly inconspicuous, and if they wanted to be sneaky, they might as well _sneak_. Hermione suspected she'd also suggested it as a way to give Harry a more important role. Scouting duty was the kind of tossing one's self in the face of danger role that Harry thrived on.

Hermione fought the urge to twist her hands together; the adrenaline was starting to hit. The rest of the group were attempting to wait nonchalantly but seemed tense as well.

"All clear," Harry whispered from somewhere off to Hermione's left, and the team set off around the corner.

Angel and Spike were alert, watching the doorways they passed, while Wesley warily craned his neck to watch behind them. Ginny kept to the middle of the group, holding her wand discreetly at her side. Only Illyria and Lupin appeared unaffected, Illyria looking haughtily bored under the hood and Remus maintaining his usual pre-battle calm.

Progress around the lower floor was cautious, and for Hermione, nerve-wracking. Despite their cover, at every turn they paused, waiting for Harry to creep ahead in a rustle of silk and whisper what he saw. Mostly, he reported empty halls – Voldemort kept fewer guards on duty inside the keep after dark. It also helped, thought Hermione, that the Death Eaters here at Castle Yfelwulf were sloppy and complacent, never having faced a serious assault on the castle before. Even knowing that the Order team were on the offensive and would eventually come after him, Voldemort was so sure of his superiority that he didn't bother to increase security at his lair.

_That, or Voldemort knows something we don't_, Hermione thought, and then corrected herself. _No, Voldemort definitely knows something we don't. The question is, what is it?_

By common consent, the team modified the plan so that their first stop was the castle laundry room. The smell coming off Goyle's robes was eye-searingly appalling, a rotten stench that would have offended even Voldemort's sense of smell. Spike had complained, _sotto voce_, about the repugnant odor.

"You're a vampire. You don't breathe," Ginny had hissed.

"Doesn't mean I can't _smell_," Spike had shot back, and then Remus had silenced the conversation with a raised eyebrow and a glance.

As they sneaked through the corridors of Castle Yfelwulf, they ran into only one guard, leaned against a wall in the plush foyer outside Voldemort's great hall. Harry, moving ahead of the group, dropped him with a Stunner as he looked toward the group, his mouth opening on the beginning of a shout. Together, Remus and Angel stuffed the guard into the coat closet and Hermione sealed the door with a quick "_Colloportus!_"

They moved on, passing the former chapel, following the corridor as it twisted around a washroom that seemed to have been dropped in after the invention of plumbing from how awkwardly it jutted into the hall. As they passed the castle's main staircase, wrapped around the inside of one of the towers, they heard footsteps and skittered past before they could be seen.

Judging by what she knew of the map, Hermione thought they had walked all the way across the castle before Lupin stopped at a nondescript wooden door. "In here," he said.

They loitered nervously outside the door, trying to look unconcerned, while Harry checked the laundry for Death Eaters. "Clear," he reported. "But dark."

The castle laundry was another large, featureless room. In the glare of Ginny's lit wand, Hermione saw several large wooden tubs and a long table with a few stacks of folded clothing at one end. Dirty robes spilled out of a basket and clean ones hung on a rack. Hermione eyed the robe handed to her mistrustfully but shrugged into it along with everyone else. While she was wearing the robe in pursuit of Voldemort's defeat, it was still a Death Eater robe, and she felt faintly queasy wearing it.

"Upstairs," Lupin said, gesturing at the door.

Cloaked in their new robes, the team moved through the halls with more assurance, Harry coasting along beside them, still under the Invisibility Cloak in case they needed an element of surprise. Lupin led them up the curving staircase and into the warren of rooms on the first floor.

Somewhere around the seventh or eighth bend in the corridor, Hermione decided that Yfelwulf hadn't been so much built as grown, given the haphazard placement of rooms. _Is it a form of security through obscurity_? she wondered. _Make the floor plan so confusing that only people who belong here know where to go . . ._

Remus sailed through the corridors, though, as if he had lived at the castle for years. Following him, Hermione tried to look confident and as if she belonged, but she kept stumbling over the hem of her overlarge robes and spoiling the illusion. The team trotted along behind him like a gaggle of ducklings, not having Lupin's facility with a map. Hermione wondered if Death Eaters usually traveled in packs around the castle.

Finally, Lupin stopped and gestured at a partially open door. From inside, an aggrieved male voice floated out.

"– and then he said the scales on Nagini's belly were dry and used the bloody Cruciatus on me! Sure if I hadn't rubbed that damned snake down three times yesterday and everything. It's a snake! Of course its bloody scales will be dry."

"It's not natural, a thing like that," said another voice, this one lower and more thoughtful. "I swear when it looks at me I hear it thinking: _Dinner_."

The Death Eaters continued grousing about tending Nagini as Lupin, with an efficient series of hand gestures, directed the team's attack. He counted down – _three, two, one_ – and Ginny, Harry and Hermione boiled through the door of the sitting room.

These Death Eaters were either better, or simply more paranoid, and they had wands out and curses flying as soon as the team cleared the door. In such a small space, they weren't dumb enough to try a Killing Curse lest they hit one of their own, but Hermione had to duck a Reductor Curse that would have taken her head off, putting her out of the fight in a nasty and permanent way. _Expelliarmus!_ she thought, flicking her wand at the Death Eater who had fired the curse, a jowly man with beetly eyebrows. His wand popped out of his hand, but he almost immediately caught it in his other hand. She spared a moment to be impressed by the man's reflexes and then had to fling herself aside as he shot three curses at her in rapid succession. Off-balance, she crashed into an end table and lost a second righting herself.

He thought he had her then; she could see it in his eyes as he leveled his wand at her. He was going to kill her and enjoy it, and she simply charged him. For just a second, it surprised him, and Hermione used the moment to her advantage. "_Confundo!_" she snapped.

The Death Eater's face went blank as he forgot why he was standing there with a wand in his hand, and she went for the kill: "_Stupefy!_" He toppled backwards, knocking his head on a coffee table as he fell. Hermione hoped he woke up with a horrible headache.

She turned, ready to aid Ginny or Harry if they needed it, but Harry already had his Death Eater down and was moving to help Ginny. Ginny jabbed her wand at her Death Eater, and much to Hermione's amusement, a cloud of flying bogies surrounded him. A disgusted and horrified look spread across his face, and before he could retaliate, Ginny, Hermione and Harry all yelled, "_Stupefy!_" The last Death Eater was blown off his feet, slamming into the rear wall and then slumping over a sofa.

"They were prepared for us." Ginny frowned. "He kept moving to my bad side."

Hermione sighed, caught between dull expectation and nervous surprise. She was almost relieved to have finally faced some resistance from the Death Eaters; the longer they went unchallenged, the worse it would be when they finally faced Voldemort's forces. That the resistance should have come from Nagini's team, however –

"What are the odds," Wesley said, following Lupin, Angel, Spike and Illyria into the sitting room and closing the door behind himself, "that Nagini's handlers would have been briefed that we were coming?"

Lupin held up a hand for silence, glancing at Hermione. She twirled her wand three times, watching as the walls sheened violet. Of course the room was bugged. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, glancing over at Ginny.

"Of course. And you?"

"Three sugars, no cream." It was their code for the tightest wards they could cast, with an added _Muffliato_ to confuse anyone who might still be listening. Hermione knew they wouldn't have long – if anyone was actually paying attention to the Eavesdropping Charm, they would have heard the sounds of a battle followed by hushed whispering. Any Death Eater with half a brain cell would conclude that the Order team had holed up in the sitting room and were easy to capture, and the worst part was, it was true.

"Malfoy wasn't even there when we planned this," Ginny said, aggrieved. "Nobody knew we were going after the handlers."

"Perhaps the flat was bugged?" Wesley suggested. "Perhaps young Mr. Malfoy left a device, perhaps a totem, behind him?"

Lupin considered. "It's certainly possible. But I trust Draco – as much as anyone in his position can be trusted. It wasn't in his best interest to foil our plans. His long-term odds of survival are better with the Order."

Harry scoffed.

"I know how you feel about Mr. Malfoy," Lupin said mildly.

Hermione grimaced, remembering the scene Harry had made last night when he realized Malfoy was their informant. If it weren't for the fact that the flat was soundproofed, people across the city would have heard his opinions on the matter. Harry had no reason to trust Malfoy, especially after the events of sixth year. Hermione wasn't fond of him either, but had been willing to extend him a little faith after he had saved their lives back in Bath.

Remus continued, "He wasn't my first choice for an Order operative. We haven't been exactly spoiled for choice, however, so I took him on. We needed someone inside the Death Eaters. He's been useful and about as loyal as he can be, all things considered. I've tested him off and on, fed him things to see how much made it back to Voldemort."

"How much?" Hermione asked.

"About a third." Remus shrugged. "It's always been an acceptable risk."

"Two to one odds he didn't talk," said Angel. "So if he didn't talk, then who did?"

There was a grave silence around the room. No one, thought Hermione, wanted to be the one to actually say it, to accuse, even indirectly, someone in the room of betraying the team to Voldemort. "It could be educated guesswork," she said. "Malfoy may not have known the _specifics_ of the plan, but he knew we were coming tonight and we were coming after Nagini – we asked him a lot of questions about Nagini and Remus told him we were coming tonight. He knows the team, if Voldemort doesn't already. That's enough information that if he took that to Voldemort, Voldemort could have figured out the rest."

"We have to assume that the plan is compromised," Wesley said. "At this point, I don't believe we have the time to debate how or when we were compromised. What's important is surviving long enough to destroy Nagini and kill Voldemort."

"We should just storm the Great Hall," said Angel. "We've been made. There's no point in pretending that they don't know we're here, so we should just forget the Polyjuice Potion and go."

"The Polyjuice might confuse them, at least," Wesley said.

Hermione frowned. "We spoke before the wards went up. They know we're in here and we won the fight. It'd be more suspicious if suddenly Nagini's handlers show up. I agree with Angel: I think we have to abandon the Polyjuice."

"Should we stay robed?" Ginny flapped a sleeve of her robe. "It's worked so far. Maybe if Voldemort thinks we're just random Death Eaters he won't kill us as soon as we clear the doors."

Scratching his head, Spike said, "Or he might just shoot us for giggles. I mean, eight Death Eaters bursting in all at once, it's a bit conspicuous, isn't it? Now it's true your Voldemort is thicker than Peaches here, but he should be able to figure even that much out. I'd certainly shoot anyone who walked through the doors and ask them questions later. Amazing, the things that can be done with necromancy these days."

"So what would convince Voldemort not to kill us?" Hermione grabbed a chunk of hair and started twirling it as she thought.

"I can think of something." Lupin looked up from the floor and locked eyes with Harry, who nodded.

"You're suggesting we give him Harry as bait?" Ginny spluttered. "And that's going to keep Voldemort from killing us all? Oh, right, that's an excellent plan. Because it's not like Voldemort hasn't been trying to kill Harry _his entire life_ or anything."

"He won't try to kill me right off," Harry said, and Hermione had to look away from the bleak Gryffindor Hero look on his face. "He never has. He likes to . . . play with me first. We'll have a few minutes while he gloats."

"I'm not proposing we give him only Harry," Remus said calmly.

"You as well?" asked Wesley.

"I think it'd have to be all of us – well, us wizards and witches at least. We've been spotted working together as a team recently, and Voldemort has reasons to find us all tempting targets." Lupin put a hand to his chest. "Leader of the Order of the Phoenix." He gestured to Ginny. "Blood traitor." Laying a hand on Hermione's shoulder, he said, "Muggleborn. All of us are close to Harry, as well, and we've repeatedly thumbed our noses at Voldemort. Capturing us might be enough of a coup to keep us alive for the novelty value."

"Do you seriously think that will work?" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest.

"I do."

"Whether you think it will work or not may be immaterial," said Wesley. "The longer we stay here – well, the words 'fish' and 'barrel' come to mind. We need to go."

After a few minutes more of hurried whispering to finalize the plan, the lined up at the door and barreled through, hoping speed and surprise might carry them. Much to Hermione's confusion and anxiety, though, they met no Death Eaters on their trip back down the stairs. Ginny, pacing along in front of Illyria, was less surprised. "Such a drama queen," she muttered. "It doesn't make a scene if we fight in the hall, so he's waiting for us to go to him. Because that's more dramatic."

"How," Spike said, sounding bemused under the hood, "has he managed to survive this long and come this far when he is so bloody awful at being an evil overlord?"

"Being unkillable helps," Lupin said. "Quiet."

They paused before the massive dark wooden doors of the Great Hall, listening for any indication of what awaited them within. Hermione held her breath, as if that would increase the acuity of her hearing, but either the Death Eaters were very good at being quiet or Voldemort had the room warded.

Spike raised a hand and knocked on the door three times.

"Who's there?" a voice – not Voldemort – asked through the door.

"Adderley, sir, and the rest of the patrol team," said Spike. "And we've got some of the Order members. Found 'em trying to sneak in. We thought the Dark Lord might be interested."

After a long moment, the doors opened – and then hands shot out and roughly grabbed Hermione, hauling her forward, seizing her wand and tugging at her. "Remus!" she yelped, not entirely for effect, and then recoiled as one of the Death Eaters holding her slapped her.

At the same time, Death Eaters were swarming the rest of the team – including, Hermione noticed regretfully, the four hooded members of the Wolfram & Hart team. Abandoning the plan, she writhed back and forward, trying to break free, but more Death Eaters grabbed her, holding her in a painful grip.

Around her, the rest of the team fought with their Death Eaters. Ginny was kicking the Death Eaters holding her and seemed inclined to bite, while Harry and Remus were subdued quickly by dint of being nearly encased in ropes. A brief fistfight erupted as Angel and Spike tore their way free of the Death Eaters around them, but before long they, too, were bound with ropes.

"Bring them here," said a high, thin voice: Lord Voldemort. Suppressed glee bubbled in his voice, turned his usual cold pitches warm. Hermione's group of Death Eaters dragged her forward, pushing her down until she knelt before Voldemort. She took a moment to look around the high-ceilinged room and though she had been expecting a scene much like this, her mouth went dry again at what she saw: Voldemort, Nagini by his side, luxuriated on his throne on the dais at the front of the room. The usual tables and chairs one might expect to see in a hall had been removed, leaving more room for a pack of Death Eaters to crowd the room. His favorite Death Eaters – the Carrows, the Lestranges, Fenrir Greyback – stood beside him, their faces reflecting malicious satisfaction and anticipation. All told, they were surrounded by easily forty Death Eaters. _Five to one odds_, thought Hermione. _Not the best, but better than we were expecting_. Of course, the odds meant nothing when half the team were wrapped from shoulders to ankles in thick ropes. Another thought struck her: it was past midnight, but all of Voldemort's best Death Eaters were assembled here, and they didn't look as if they'd been dragged from their beds recently. _How long have they been here waiting on us?_

Voldemort cackled and rose to his feet, clearly enjoying his triumph over them. The Death Eaters parted before him as he stepped down from the dais, gliding across the room to stand in front of the captured Order members. "Did you really think you could surprise Lord Voldemort?" he said. "I knew you were here – knew you were here the moment you arrived. Yes, I have known everything you've done – everything, all along!

"Oh yes," Voldemort said happily, pacing back and forth before them, "I knew about your plans to destroy me. How could I not know? So obvious . . . I admit I was hoping for something with a little more cleverness. But you have been following my plans the entire way!"

Voldemort was almost cooing in his glee. "Yes, yes. You wondered why it was so simple, did you not? You wondered why I did not act to stop you . . . why I did not send my Death Eaters to kill you. You did not meet my Death Eaters in Monkton Farleigh because I _allowed_ you to take my Horcrux! Did you think it was your own _cleverness_ that allowed you to survive? No! It was mercy . . . the mercy of Lord Voldemort . . ."

"Are you getting to a point anytime soon?" Ginny demanded. "Because my knees are starting to hurt."

Voldemort flicked his wand and a cut opened across Ginny's forehead. "Do not interrupt! I am in charge here . . . I am in control here . . . I have been controlling you all along! At any time I could have stopped you, but instead I allowed you to proceed . . . allowed you to be here tonight . . . so you would bring me Potter."

"Yes, ickle wee Potter," breathed Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Hush, Bella," said Voldemort mildly. He stopped in front of Harry, gazing down triumphantly as Harry flopped and struggled against the ropes binding him. "How does it feel to know you've failed, werewolf? All these years _protecting_ young Potter, keeping him from me so I couldn't kill him – and in the end you bring him to me! So much easier than trying to track him myself . . . I learned that years ago . . . Give him the right bait and he will move heaven and earth to deliver himself to me!"

The Death Eaters laughed appreciatively.

"I don't believe that," Spike said over the din.

"Don't believe what, half-breed?"

"You planned this?" scoffed Spike. "You couldn't plan a Girl Scout bake sale. Typical wannabe behavior. Taking credit for everything."

"Do you want to know how I knew what you were doing?" Voldemort asked, grinning. He leveled his wand at Spike. "Ask me how I knew what you were doing, half-breed, and perhaps I will let you live . . . for my amusement . . . yes . . ."

"I've got a better idea. How about I ask you to go f–"

Flames roared from the tip of Voldemort's wand, coming close enough to graze Spike's chin. Spike recoiled and said, in a tone of great boredom, "How did you know what we were doing."

"Ahh." Voldemort tapped his fingers together and paced away from Spike, seemingly for effect. Then, turning back to the group, he said gleefully, "Why don't I let Illyria tell you that?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

Wesley said, "Illyria?"

The Death Eaters who had been holding Illyria let it go, and supremely disdainful, it rose to its feet, moving to stand beside Voldemort.

"Go on," purred Voldemort. "Tell them."

Giving Wesley a chilly and haughty look, Illyria said, "We came here to fight the Dark Lord. But I wanted to know why, why we must move to combat him when I was greater and more terrible than ever he dreamed of being. You could not tell me, so I sought to understand – I sought him out."

"I knew it," Angel muttered.

"You had told me to expect a child playing with the toys of the gods. But he is more – more than that. He is powerful, and when you are dead, he will be even more powerful. And he will make me powerful again."

"Illyria," repeated Wesley, blankly.

Illyria turned away. "This world was mine once. And it will be mine again. I do not need to learn to abide – I will conquer."

Voldemort crouched in front of Harry. "Do you see, little Potter? _This_ is the power you know not. With Illyria, I have power over life and death . . . I have power over _your_ life and _your_ death. What do you have? The mercy of Lord Voldemort . . . that is all you have now. Go on, Potter . . . beg . . . beg for mercy . . ."

Harry remained silent.

"Ah." Voldemort laughed. "Too proud to beg. Not like your fool Muggle mother, Harry . . . she pleaded with me for your life. And do you know . . ." Voldemort tapped his fingers together and looked immensely pleased with himself. "I'm going to give it to you. Put them in the dungeons." He raised a hand. Hermione's wand, which had fallen to the ground in front of her, went soaring into his hand, along with Remus's, Ginny's and Harry's wands.

The Death Eaters holding Hermione hauled her to her feet again. She struggled, trying to pull away, and got a Body-Bind for her trouble. As two Death Eaters carried her out – MacNair and someone else she didn't recognize – she heard Ginny howling in outrage behind her and a voice yell, "_Petrificus Totalis_!"

The trip down to the dungeons was much quicker than their journey into the castle, if a bit harder on the spine. For the most part, the Death Eaters handled Hermione as if she were a piece of furniture, banging her into walls as they turned and unceremoniously dumping her on the floor in the middle of her cell. Once she was locked in, MacNair lifted the Body-Bind.

The other Death Eater leered at her. "If you decide you want out, I might feel kindly toward you, if you know what I mean," he said.

Hermione rubbed her wrists and gave him a dirty look.

The Death Eater simply chuckled. "Couple days, we'll see how you feel."

Freed, Hermione looked around. The Castle Yfelwulf dungeons appeared to be hewn out of the bedrock under the castle. They smelled dank and musty and faintly, Hermione thought, of blood. Certainly they weren't where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

As she tried to stretch her stiff limbs, one by one, the rest of the team were dumped into cells around her and untied or unfrozen. Ginny started spitting profanity as soon as she was freed, the depth and breadth of which made Spike raise an eyebrow. With a last few chuckles, the Death Eaters departed, leaving them alone in their separate cells.

"Well," Spike said after a moment. "Anyone got any ideas for getting out of here?"

Ignoring him, Angel said darkly, "Something's not right."

"Illyria?" asked Remus.

"Illyria," said Wesley. "That wasn't like her at all. All that talk about becoming powerful again – she's accepted that her time of dominance in this world is over, and furthermore, she knows Voldemort hasn't the power to return her to her throne."

"She's running a con," Angel said, inspecting the bars of his cell and tugging gently on them.

Wesley nodded. "I believe she must be."

"But what's her purpose for conning Voldemort – or us?" Hermione asked, trying to work a kink out of her neck. "It doesn't seem to have done much good."

"We're not dead," said Harry. "He didn't even try to kill us. Maybe that was the deal Illyria made."

"Or he could have spared us because he'll get more enjoyment out of killing us later," Hermione said.

"Or it could just be that he's fantastically bad at this evil overlord thing – getting back to my original point, does anyone have any ideas for getting us out of here?" Spike said, looking irritated.

In the cell next to Hermione, Remus smiled slightly. "I believe it's time for Plan B."

"And Plan B is?"

Remus leaned against the stone wall of his cell, apparently attempting to make himself as comfortable as he could. "We wait."

"We _wait_?" Harry asked. "That's your plan? We're locked in Voldemort's dungeon, he's going to kill us, and your answer is let's just sit here and _wait_ for him?"

"Patience, Harry," said Remus. "I don't think we'll be in here long."

"Oh, yeah, great. That's like saying 'don't worry, you only suffer horribly for a few seconds when he kills you.' Let's get out of here!" Harry rattled his cell door.

With that, Harry started yanking on the bars of his cell in earnest. Ginny, in the cell next to him, began to push on the other side. Angel and Spike both put on their best circus strongman act, trying to bend the bars of their cage doors in various directions. Hermione, who knew full well she wasn't strong enough to bend an iron bar, followed Remus's lead, trying to get comfortable against the cold, rough stone.

"I have to admit," she muttered to Remus, "in all the time I spent imagining how this would go, this wasn't a possibility I considered."

"All may yet be very well," he said, echoing his words from earlier, and smiled at her.

She tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. It was easy for him to be calm about being stuck in a cell in Voldemort's basement. He was already prepared to die. He'd said as much the night before.

_And about the night before_ . . . Hermione winced, feeling suddenly awkward sitting next to Remus. There was still so much left unsaid between the two of them. If they lived, she knew eventually they were going to have to have a real conversation about what he'd said and why he'd said it and what they planned to do about it, but last night really hadn't seemed like the time.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

"I keep telling you that's my question." At Lupin's patient expression, she said, "When this is over, we need to talk."

"Ah." His expression didn't change, but he carefully worked a hand through the bars between their cages. She took it and then focused all her efforts on thinking about anything else.

Time passed. Hermione wasn't sure how long - it was the usual uncertainty about time when underground. She was deep in cogitation, trying to figure out a better way out of the dungeon – her best plan involved suddenly mastering wandless magic and blasting her way out – and so she almost missed it when a rat came skittering into the dungeon at high speed and stopped in front of Remus's cell, sniffing the air nervously.

A rat with a _silver paw_.

"Ah," said Lupin, dropping Hermione's hand and rising to his feet. "You come most carefully upon your hour."

The rat stood up on its hind legs and in a blink, was Peter Pettigrew, cringing in his Death Eater robes, wringing his hands together. Wesley raised an eyebrow, while Harry and Ginny's faces immediately filled with scorn. Hermione couldn't say she was terribly fond of Pettigrew either.

"I shouldn't even be here," gabbled Pettigrew, "I shouldn't have come, he's going to know I helped you, he's going to kill me –"

"You should have thought about that before you decided to join him."

"I didn't have a choice, Remus! You have no idea what it's been like –"

"We need out, Peter. We need disguises and our wands." Lupin stared impassively down at Pettigrew, who winced. "You owe Harry a life debt. It's time to repay it."

Pettigrew's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Hermione suspected all that would come out would be a series of high-pitched squeaks. Pettigrew was a rat in more ways than the obvious.

"Or have you forgotten?"

Nearly in tears, Pettigrew flinched at that. "No – but Remus! Have pity, Remus! What you're asking me to do . . . he'll kill me! We were _friends_, Remus. Surely you wouldn't send a friend to his death . . . you wouldn't, would you?"

"I was ready to kill you ten years ago," Lupin said coolly. "Harry was the one that saved you then. You might see how he feels about that now."

Pettigrew turned. "Harry – you wouldn't – you _can't_ –"

"Get us out of here, Wormtail," said Harry. "Prove you're good for something after all."

As if Harry's words magically compelled him to obey, Pettigrew stopped protesting and did so. Anguish on his face, Pettigrew dropped back into his rat form and vanished, only to return perhaps ten or fifteen minutes later as a human, tears streaming down his face, with a bunch of keys. "I couldn't get your wands," he said, hiccuping and sniffling as he unlocked their cells. "The Dark Lord has them."

Pettigrew moved down the rows of cells, freeing Hermione and the others one by one. Once they were all out, he looked at the seven of them standing in a circle around him and gulped. "That's it, right? I've repaid you, haven't I, Harry?"

"No." Lupin beat Harry to a reply. "I said we needed our wands. Take us to someone who can help us recover our wands."

"_Harry_ didn't say –"

"Take us to someone who can help us recover our wands," Harry said, staring disgustedly at Pettigrew's pathetic sniveling. "And if you take us to Voldemort, or leave us and go to Voldemort yourself, you won't live long enough for him to kill you."

A miserable expression on his face, Pettigrew nodded. "I'll guide you," he said, and dropped back into rat form.

Lupin scooped him up. "Anything funny, Peter," he warned, and the rat squeaked, as much in indignation as in terror, Hermione thought.

In pairs, they climbed the steps leading out of the dungeon, trying to look unhurried and relaxed, as if they were simply on routine patrols of the castle. Lupin and Angel led the way, with Harry and Ginny following a respectable distance behind; Hermione, paired with Wesley, trailed them, while Spike brought up the rear.

They walked, mostly in silence, for several minutes. As before, they met only a few Death Eaters. Hermione greeted them by dipping her head each time – it looked like a gesture of respect and helped to keep her face hidden. She wasn't sure, but she thought Pettigrew might be leading them around the long way: up a flight of stairs twisting around the inside of a tower, along a long corridor with many doors, up another flight of stairs in another tower, through a hallway that bent six times, down a narrow stone staircase . . . Finally, Remus stopped before a plain wooden door in a short hall. Although Hermione was completely turned around from their trip through Castle Yfelwulf, she thought they might have wound up back on the ground floor by the laundry.

She knocked on the door, received a curt, "Come," and stepped through the doorway.

Inside the small room, the tension was nearly stifling. On one side of the room, Remus stood placidly, holding Pettigrew, who was squeaking constantly, while Harry and Ginny blazed with anger.

On the other side of the room, chill rage evident in his stiff posture, was Severus Snape.

As Wesley and Spike crammed into the small room, the rat Pettigrew wormed his way out of Remus's hand and fell to the floor, rising up again as the man. "I didn't want to bring them, Severus," he whined, "but they made me! I know what you said – I know you don't –"

"Silence," snapped Snape, in that same level voice that had held years of classrooms quiet.

"How is he supposed to help us?" spat Harry. "He's one of them! He's Voldemort's right-hand man! He – he _murdered_ Dumbledore, and you bring us to _him_?"

Snape sneered. "Mr. Potter, it is good to know that your long imprisonment has not damaged your critical faculties in the slightest."

Angel looked back and forth from Lupin to Snape. "What – who – I don't get it. Who's he?"

Evenly, Lupin said, "This is Severus Snape. Potions master, former professor at Hogwarts . . . and spy for the Order of the Phoenix."

"Spy?" Harry exploded, sounding incredulous. "Him, a spy? Did you miss the part where he MURDERED ALBUS DUMBLEDORE? Did you miss the part where he BETRAYED US?"

"No, Harry, I haven't. But there was more to the events of that year than you knew. Severus has long been working to aid the Order from within the Death Eaters."

"Oh yeah? And a fat lot of good he's done us in all that time -"

Scornful, Snape said, "Potter, where do you think young Mr. Malfoy has been getting his information? Who do you think provided the maps that led you here?" He stared down his nose at Harry. "Whose plan do you think you're following?"Hermione refrained from pointing out that at least part of the plan was Wesley's, but as little as she liked it, she knew Snape was probably telling the truth.

As far as she had known, Snape had dropped out of sight and returned to the Dark Lord after the events of her sixth year at Hogwarts. But Remus vouched for him, which meant she supposed she had to trust him. Even back in the days when she'd been more active in running the Order - even during that brief period when she _was_ running the Order - she'd known that Remus had assets about which he wasn't telling her. Snape must have been one of them.

"At any rate," Snape continued, switching focus to Lupin, "I am not sure what assistance you expect I can provide you. You understand I am constrained by my position here."

"We need our wands," said Lupin. "Peter, here, seems to think that you can get them for us."

"The Dark Lord has them. Do you really think there is any excuse I could give him that would convince him to release them to me?"

"Oh, I expect you could think of something." When Snape's lip curled, Lupin continued, "Voldemort's reign ends tonight, Severus. This is the last act you'll need to perform for the Order of the Phoenix. After this, your debt is lifted. So I ask you again: we need our wands. Please retrieve them for us."

Snape held his ground for a moment longer, then turned and departed the room in a swirl of black robes. Hermione heaved a sigh as the door snapped shut behind him.

"Do you really think he's going to help us?" Ginny demanded.

"I do."

Ginny bristled. Leaning on the edge of one of Snape's workbenches, Lupin said, "You might recall that I've known Severus far longer than you. If there's one thing that's consistent about him, it's that Severus always does what's best for Severus. Selling us out to Voldemort might benefit him in the short term, but it doesn't achieve his long term goal of seeing Voldemort defeated."

"Bit of a git, though, isn't he?" observed Spike, making Harry laugh darkly.

Remus smiled. "Severus has always been difficult -"

"Foul, you mean," Harry interjected.

"- but I have reason to trust him."

"So what now?" asked Angel. "What's our plan?"

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Do we even have a plan at this point?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Kill Voldemort."

Wesley said, "I think at this point all that's left to us is seeing Illyria's gambit through. Clearly, she has some idea in mind for defeating Voldemort, even if she hasn't shared with us what that is."

"I agree," said Lupin. "Once Severus returns with our wands, I believe we'll do best by simply confronting Voldemort directly and letting events play out. We'll have aid from Severus and Peter here -" Pettigrew cringed, looking as if he'd hoped Lupin had forgotten about him - "and perhaps others as well. We'll just have to face whatever Voldemort has waiting for us as best we can."

No one else had much to say after that. Ginny and Harry chatted quietly, heads together. Angel slipped into a deep brood, lurking in the far corner of Snape's room. Hermione felt like joining him; it was sinking in that very shortly, they would be battling Voldemort to the death - either his or theirs. If Snape had had a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ available, she would have lunged for it. Instead, in an effort to occupy her mind until Snape returned, she focused on trying to read the first chapter from memory.

Snape was gone long enough for Hermione to begin to worry that he wouldn't return, despite her efforts to distract herself. Eventually, though, the door snapped open and Snape strode in. "As I suspected," he announced, "the Dark Lord failed to see the need to bring prisoners their wands, despite my best persuasion." He paused, fixing Lupin with an icy look. "I have arranged, however, for them to be returned to you before you confront the Dark Lord."

"Thank you, Severus," said Lupin.

"You can make it up to me by getting out."

"I'm afraid," Lupin said, managing to sound regretful, "that since we'll be unarmed, we'll need you to come with us."

Eyes narrowed, Snape said, "You presume much."

Lupin remained silent, a patiently expectant look on his face.

Snape sighed. "Very well then."

"After you," Remus said genially.

Their trip through the halls this time was short and direct. Voldemort appeared to have been alerted to their escape by Snape's inquiry about their wands and had stationed the most junior Death Eaters in the halls as guards. Snape dispatched most of the guards they met, although Lupin dropped one with a wandless Stunning Spell, and Angel cold-cocked one guard who attempted to sneak up behind them. Within minutes, the nine of them were again assembled outside the great hall.

Remus gestured at the doors. "Go ahead."

Angel gave the heavy doors of Voldemort's great hall a sharp push, flinging them wide. Inside, the scene was much as it had been before, Voldemort seated on his throne, Illyria and Nagini beside him, and Death Eaters scattered in loose clumps throughout the room. Hermione tried to get a count as she burst through the doors. Her heart sped up as she counted - it looked like the more junior Death Eaters had been dispatched to serve as guards, leaving maybe thirty Death Eaters in the room. With Pettigrew and Snape, there were nine on the Order's side. Of course, four of them were unarmed, which did complicate things.

Snape stepped out in front of the group. Sketching a bow to Voldemort, he said, "As you ordered, my lord, here are the escaped prisoners." He paused. "Might I suggest locking them up more securely this time?"

Hermione froze. Beside her, Harry spat, "You -"

"Excellent work," Voldemort purred, rising from his throne. "You see, werewolf? Even when you think you are escaping me, you are still following my plan! Yes . . . There is just one last thing . . . A demonstration of what happens when you fail Lord Voldemort. I think it will be . . . instructive."

Pettigrew's silver hand dropped to the floor with a clunk as he exploded, spattering Hermione with blood. Hermione groaned and fought the urge to vomit. Ginny, beside her, muttered, "That is probably the second most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

Voldemort tapped his fingers together happily. Turning to Illyria, he said, "Kill them."

An excited, anticipatory murmur ran through the Death Eaters. On the dais, Illyria gave the Order group a frosty look.

Wesley mumbled, "Illyria," one last time, almost as a hopeless entreaty.

It turned to give Voldemort an equally cool glance, raised a hand dramatically -

- and then in a motion so fast Hermione took a few moments to realize what she was seeing, Illyria reached down, seized Nagini, and ripped the snake's head from its body.

"Nagini!" shrieked Voldemort.

At the same time, Draco Malfoy shouted, "Lupin! Catch!" The wands Voldemort had taken from the group went soaring over the Death Eaters' heads.

Hermione put up a hand and yelled, "_Accio_ wand!" Her wand zoomed into her hand as the Death Eaters began to recover from their shock and surged toward her group. The last thing she saw before the fighting began was Illyria holding out Nagini's twitching body. Lupin called, "_Avada Kedavra_!" With a cracking sound, Voldemort's last Horcrux shattered.

After that, the chaos of battle consumed her. Three Death Eaters stampeded at her and everything else fell away as she fought. A curse flew by her ear - she fired off a barrage of Stunners - Voldemort was screaming, "I want Potter, leave me Potter!" - she twisted to avoid a curse and rammed into Ginny, knocking them both off-balance for a moment . . .

The fight went on. She managed to land a Confundus Charm on one of the Death Eaters fighting her, which distracted the other two for just long enough for her to drop one of them with a Somnus Charm and then finish off the first Death Eater, leaving one for her to fight. Through a break in the melee, she saw Harry squaring off against two Death Eaters, both of whom appeared to have been disarmed from the way they were trying to punch him. She ducked to avoid an actinic green hex and set the Death Eater's foot on fire. He conjured a spout of water, putting it out, and as he looked up at her triumphantly she socked him with a Stunner and twisted to face her next opponent.

It was Amycus Carrow, his sister Alecto beside him. _Not them again_, Hermione had time to think, and then they were on her, snapping off rapid-fire alternating curses as if they'd choreographed it. She backed away, trying to gain enough space to mount an offense, flinging up Shield Charms as they cast at her. The Carrows pursued her, grinning, and Hermione only realized they were driving her where they wanted her when she felt stone at her back.

Amycus laughed. "Not so clever now, are you, Mudblood?" He licked his lips. "No escaping this time."

Hermione, panting too hard to talk, gave up on the Shield Charms and pushed away from the wall, charging Amycus and firing any hex she could think of as she ran, but he easily deflected every one. With a grin on his face, he and Alecto pushed her back to the wall.

She tried to run a few more times, but each time she moved away, the Carrows repositioned themselves to block her. It was almost unthinkable: Hermione Granger wasn't just losing a fight, but losing spectacularly. Her throat was hoarse from repeatedly casting _Protego_ and her wand arm was wearing out, but she kept fighting -

- until she heard a loud crunch and felt a flare of pain in her left arm. One of the Carrows had landed a Bone-Breaking Curse on her. Her cry of pain and Alecto's shout of triumph went up at the same time. _This is it,_ she thought, resigned. _They're going to kill me now_ . . .

"_Reducto!_" someone shouted, and Amycus's head simply vanished in a fine crimson mist. Both Hermione and Alecto turned to see who had cast the spell, and as they did Alecto met the same fate. As the Carrows' bodies dropped, she saw Snape standing behind them and raised her wand. "Not me, you silly girl!" he said sharply, and turned away to face another opponent.

The room seemed to be clearing - either that, or no one had noticed that Hermione was standing unchallenged momentarily. She cradled her broken arm while she surveyed the fight. Spike, Angel, and even Wesley were engaging in enthusiastic fistfights with individual Death Eaters. Harry and Ginny had teamed up against Lucius Malfoy, and as she watched, Lupin dropped Fenrir Greyback and calmly targeted another Death Eater.

_Why isn't anyone using the Killing Curse_? she wondered. _Not even the Death Eaters_. Then she looked toward the dais and had her answer - Illyria was holding a hand stretched out toward the fight, a fierce look of concentration on its face. Somehow, it was muffling the Death Eaters' ability to cast Avada Kedavra. As a further surprise, she saw Draco Malfoy dueling against MacNair, which at the moment seemed to entail being in a headlock and getting punched a lot.

Meanwhile, Voldemort watched from his throne, looking almost bored by the carnage. Harry had been right; Voldemort would only join the fracas when he knew he could toy with Harry specifically.

Hermione heard a cackle and half-turned to see the source of the sound - and then Bellatrix Lestrange, eyes wild, leapt at her.

This was not the combat of Stockbridge Main, where Lestrange had mostly been interested in amusing herself with Hermione. This time, Lestrange fought viciously, matching Hermione hex for hex, shield for shield. Through it all, as Hermione sweated and cast desperately, trying to land anything on her, Bellatrix had the same maniacal rictus grin on her face, clearly having the time of her life. Hermione backed up and bobbed left, then right, attempting anything that would let her penetrate Lestrange's defenses, but either she was too tired or Bellatrix was too inspired. Through it all, her arm throbbed and ground, wearing at her concentration.

"Now, Mudblood, the fun begins! _Cruciatus_!" Lestrange shrieked, and it surprised Hermione just enough that she missed the timing on her Shield Charm and sank to her knees, writhing in agony, as the Cruciatus Charm washed over her again.

A red fog descended over her eyes. The pain was as terrible as she remembered, a burning shooting stabbing grinding ache, like being doused in an acid bath or chopped to pieces or set on fire or - Hermione heard sobbing and realized she was screaming as Bellatrix held the curse on her.

She fought to hang onto consciousness this time, determined that she wasn't going to die curled in a fetal position in a pool of her own vomit. Thinking through the agony was a struggle, as the pain sucked and tore at her mind, and before long she could manage only one coherent thought: _The bitch_ dies!

Abruptly, the torment went away, and when she could see again Hermione found herself staring at Bellatrix Lestrange's body, ragged at the neck where her head had been blown off. _Oh God. I did that. I killed her. I didn't mean_ - Except, of course, that in her desperation she had: for the first time, she'd been beyond any options but murder.

From across the room, she heard a screech: "Bella! _What have you done!_"

Hermione fought her way up to her feet, trying to ready a cast, but the inside of her head still felt like it was lined with cotton. Rodolphus Lestrange was surging across the room toward her - she had just enough time to see the glint of a dagger in his hand - and then a horrible ripping ache tore through her as Rodolphus Lestrange sank the knife into her stomach and twisted it, slicing a deep gash across her abdomen.

Through her scream of shock and pain, she heard two other voices. One was Ginny, who shouted, "_Stupefy!_" Lestrange slumped to the ground. The other, surprisingly, was Harry, who yelled, "Hermione! No!"

Hermione had just enough time to look down, surprised at how little the blood showed on her black Death Eater robes, before she collapsed. She would have laughed if she'd been able. _All this time, I was sure someone was going to die_, she thought. _I just never thought it would be me. So this is how the world ends._

Her vision was dimming out, going narrow. Then the back of her head said, in a tone of thought that felt a lot like Ron, _So you're just giving up?_

It was probably just an aberrant thought caused by her brain starving of oxygen, but it was right. _No_, she thought. _It _doesn't_ end like this. I won't let it_. With the last of her strength, she pressed her wand to her stomach and muttered the First Aid Charm, feeling the wound seal shut with a sharp tingle. She lay still for a moment, feigning death, while she waited for a trickle of energy to return so she could splint her arm. That done, she slowly, excruciatingly, pulled herself back to her feet to rejoin the fight.

No Death Eater immediately moved to fight her, mostly because the few that were left were in combat with other Order members. The Order members that were still standing, however, were in nearly as bad a shape as she was. Wesley was down and not moving. Angel and Spike were bruised and bleeding and clearly weakening. Remus turned as he fought, revealing that one side of his face had been smashed in until it looked like hamburger meat. Ginny limped as she dueled with Dolohov; Harry's face was covered in blood and he was favoring his left arm.

_How much longer can this go on?_ Hermione thought. _Even with Snape and Malfoy on our side, we're nearly dead, and Voldemort hasn't even been touched yet._ She wobbled on her feet.

With a cry of triumph, Mulciber downed Draco Malfoy and turned towards Hermione, wand raised. She would have groaned if she'd had time. She was utterly drained, with barely the energy for even the simplest spells. Determined to at least go down fighting, she raised her wand.

Mulciber cast something the color of liquid gold at her, and she avoided it by simply crumpling to her knees, not entirely on purpose. Now, though, she was down and had nowhere else to dodge, and from the triumphant look on Mulciber's face, he knew it.

She flicked her wand at him. "_Expelliarmus!_" From the way his wand went flying out of his hand, he hadn't been expecting her to try such a simple spell. The problem was that she wasn't sure she could manage a followup, and Mulciber was already shouting, "_Accio_ wand!"

Lupin spun away from the last Death Eater he was fighting and reached a hand toward Mulciber. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" he called, and Mulciber froze and keeled over backwards. Remus refocused on his wand hand and snapped, "_Somnus!_" and a second Death Eater dropped.

Hermione fought to stay upright. Distress on his face, Remus hurried over to her and knelt beside her. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently.

She grimaced. "I'll live." At least, she was fairly sure she would. The First Aid Charm she had cast had stopped the bleeding and patched the skin, but it hadn't actually repaired the damage to her insides or replenished her lost blood. If they defeated Voldemort, she was looking at an overnight stay in the Hogwarts infirmary, if not longer.

Remus touched her cheek and then scrambled away again, slashing his wand at the Death Eater battling Ginny. Ropes shot out of his wand and encased the Death Eater from the elbows down. Ginny, in turn, shot a Stunner at the Death Eater battling Harry, and for the first time Harry was without an opponent.

As if that were the signal he had been waiting for, Voldemort rose from his throne. "Now, Potter," he cried. "Now we duel! Come to Lord Voldemort and face the death you have so far avoided!" With a swish of his wand, the dead, stunned or otherwise inert Death Eaters rose off the floor and obediently rearranged themselves along the edges of the great hall.

Harry's exhaustion was plain from the set of his shoulders. His hair was matted with sweat and the blood covering his face was still ghastly. But the Gryffindor Hero look burned resolutely on his face as he raised his wand and faced Voldemort. From the time he was an infant, Harry's life had been leading him here, and he was clearly determined to defeat Voldemort for the last time.

Voldemort mockingly saluted Harry, raising his wand to his brow, and then snapped his wand down in a wordless cast. Harry dove to his right to avoid the jet of fuchsia light, and the fight was on.

What Hermione would tell people later she remembered the most from the battle wasn't Harry's skill at fighting - he was mostly reduced to running and casting simple spells like the Disarming Charm - but the sheer grim tenacity with which he fought Voldemort. In terms of raw power, he was outmatched, particularly given how recently he had been freed from his imprisonment in Grimmauld Place, but he had a relentless courage that kept him in the fight despite his weariness.

Around and around Harry and Voldemort circled, each never quite gaining the advantage over the other. Harry would summon the energy for a cast - "_Expelliarmus!_" - and Voldemort would shield - "_Protego!_" Voldemort would cast - "_Cruciatus!_" and Harry would simply lunge to one side or another. To Hermione, watching in terror from the floor where she had fallen, it seemed they fought for hours. Angel said later that he thought it was more like ten minutes, and just to be contrary Spike said he thought it had been twenty.

All else in the room had stopped - through teamwork, Ginny, Lupin and Angel had dropped the three remaining Death Eaters. The others, Snape included, watched from the sides of the room, understanding that this fight was Voldemort and Harry's alone - prophecy becoming reality.

Back and forth, back and forth - Hermione only realized she was clenching her fists in her fright when she felt her nails digging into her skin. How long could Harry keep this up? Voldemort was clearly tiring of the game - he'd cast Avada Kedavra more than once, which Harry had managed to avoid through luck and good reflexes. Illyria either wasn't able to suppress the use of the Killing Curse now or simply wasn't trying, sensing the importance of the battle.

"Come on, Harry, come on," Hermione muttered. Voldemort was mortal now and would die like any man. If Harry could just land a death blow of any nature this would all be over - but she already knew Harry couldn't cast the Killing Curse, and he didn't seem to have the energy or concentration for some of the lethal uses of the more potent jinxes and hexes.

There had to be something she could do to help him. Wasn't that what she had spent her entire life since she met him doing, looking for ways to help him? Endless hours of research in the Hogwarts library, so many copied homework assignments she'd lost count, spectating at Quidditch games in the hope that her presence alone would keep him on his damn broom, spells cast and potions brewed and hexes learned, battles and the Order, two years spent buried in the magical libraries of England and Europe - she'd spent too much time loving him, sacrificing for him, trying to keep him alive for it to end here.

Her injured arm throbbed in its splint, aching deeply enough that she noticed it over the constant screaming agony of the damage to her abdomen. If the fight didn't end soon, Hermione thought, it was an open question of who would die first: herself, Harry or Voldemort. She knew enough about injuries to know that Rodolphus Lestrange had made a mess of her insides, one that might yet prove fatal -

That was _it_. That was how she could help Harry. Frantically, Hermione looked around herself for the dagger Lestrange had wielded, but it seemed to have been banished to the wall along with Lestrange's body. Oh, there wasn't _time_ for this: she had to find the knife before Voldemort realized what she was doing. Squinting in concentration, she twisted delicately and pointed her wand toward the nearest heap of bodies. Accio _Lestrange's dagger!_ she thought, swishing her wand.

For a moment, she thought the spell had failed, that she didn't have the power left to cast enough of a spell to tie her shoes, let alone summon the knife. Then the knife came rocketing out of a pile of corpses, nearly hitting her in the face before dropping to the ground. She waited until Voldemort's back was turned to seize the knife, clutching it close to her body - or as close as she could keep it without opening new wounds.

The blade was still sticky with her blood and smelled deeply unpleasant. Hermione held it, waiting for the right moment, waiting until she could catch Harry's attention without getting him killed through distraction. It seemed to take forever for him to get into position, but finally he moved to where he was facing her at about a forty-five degree angle, where he could see both her and Voldemort at the same time.

"Harry! Take this!" she cried, and flung the dagger across the floor to him. Without hesitation, he dove to the ground and seized it, rolling up to his feet as he glanced at what he'd picked up.

She saw the moment Harry realized what her plan was. The set of his shoulders changed and he charged at Voldemort like a mad bull, heedless of the spells Voldemort was still casting. Hermione held her breath - Voldemort, perplexed, paused in his casting for a critical moment, shouting, "What are you doing? What is this?" - Ginny cried, "Harry! Look out!" - and then Harry was pressed up against Voldemort in a parody of a hug, the knife protruding from Voldemort's back.

Voldemort screamed, a tortured, inhuman sound, as mortality came to claim him.

Harry yanked the knife out of Voldemort's back and let him go. The former Dark Lord fell to his knees, the scream becoming a gurgle as his lungs filled with blood.

His body was clearly failing him, but Voldemort still managed to raise his wand arm and point it at Harry. "_Avada_," he gurgled, "_Ked_ -"

Harry kicked Voldemort in the chest, and the spell went wide as Voldemort collapsed backwards, body seeming to shrivel up as he died for the final time.

The Second Wizarding War was over.


	11. The City of Days

Epilogue  
_The City of Days_

_June 8, 2004_

After that, things had happened fairly quickly. Remus had issued a summons to the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, calling for assistance capturing the remaining Death Eaters at Castle Yfelwulf. Within a quarter of an hour, Voldemort's former fortress had been swarming with Order members, all busy scouring the castle for Death Eaters and hauling them off to be held in one of the dungeons at Hogwarts.

Illyria had been persuaded to explain its reasons for apparently betraying the Order group and siding with Voldemort, however briefly. "It was simple," it said haughtily. "You needed access to the fool Voldemort. And I did want to meet him. When I saw him, I knew he was exactly as you had claimed, a pretender and a braggart. So I convinced him that I could be of use to him and that he could trust me, and then I manipulated that trust. It was effective, was it not?"

Hermione missed most of the excitement of the next few days, spending them flat on her back in the Hogwarts infirmary while Madam Pomfrey healed the damage caused by Rodolphus Lestrange. Ginny, Remus and even Harry all stopped in to see her at various points, though, telling her about how the Order of the Phoenix had descended upon the Ministry of Magic to round up the Death Eaters remaining there (the stupid ones, mostly, they confessed) and then divided into strike teams, canvassing the country for Voldemort's last few holdouts.

Almost immediately, Harry was besieged by members of the magical press, both British and international, all congratulating him and angling for exclusive interviews. In typical Harry fashion, he shrugged them all off and granted the interview to the only paper that hadn't asked him for one: _The Quibbler_. Luna Lovegood would have been thrilled.

Angel, Wesley, Spike and Illyria had quietly returned to Los Angeles, a few nights later, before the frenzied media could discover their involvement. "We work best when we're not in the paper all the time," Wesley told Hermione, who was freshly released from the infirmary. "Keeps people from asking inconvenient questions."

She had nodded. "We do appreciate the help. Thank you. We couldn't have accomplished this without you."

"We'll send the bill," he said, and Hermione started to say something until she saw the faint twitching around his mouth that indicated he was joking. Spike had stuck his head out of the plane door and started whinging about the lack of selection on the minibar, and Hermione had decided it was best to let them leave.

Then the rebuilding started. Following the purge by the Order, the Ministry of Magic was riddled with vacancies, with many of the upper level ministers and department heads now in jail awaiting their trial before the Wizengamot. It didn't take long to convince people that Remus Lupin was suited for Minister for Magic, a position he humbly accepted. From there, members of the Order of the Phoenix slotted into place all over the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt took over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while Hermione had ended up the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (and Deputy Minister for Magic, although since the Deputy Minister didn't have any duties, she considered it a useless title.) Arthur Weasley had been elevated to the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, which Molly Weasley was still crowing about. Ginny had taken a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and even Percy Weasley had been lured out of hiding to run the Department of International Magical Cooperation – although his surviving siblings still refused to talk to him.

As for Harry himself, he was taking things slowly, trying to recover and avoid the constant media barrage. He had moved out of Grimmauld Place, and Ginny confided in Hermione that they were on a track towards something like reconciliation.

Hermione had thrown herself into the work of rebuilding the government after the corruption or incompetence of the previous administrations. It wasn't easy, reforming a system with hundreds of years of inertia behind it, and so far in the month she had been in office, it meant a lot of twelve-hour days and tedious meetings, convincing people that this reform or that change was worth something.

And on days like this one, the long days were even more tiresome. Hermione swiveled her desk chair away from her desk and stared out the window. She was four levels underground, but today Magical Maintenance had opted to show Hampstead Heath out her windows. Hermione could tell it was a pristine day out there, with people tossing frisbees and walking their dogs. And she was waiting for her appointment with Amos Diggory, and after that she had a meeting scheduled. Her datebook was full until at least nine. But maybe she could take a break, go for a quick walk after this meeting . . .

"Hermione Granger."

Hermione spun her chair around, briefly alarmed; the voice wasn't the one she'd been expecting to hear. "Illyria," she said, cautious.

Illyria inclined its head at her, burning blue eyes fixed on Hermione. She tried not to show her nervousness. Even now, she found Illyria just as spooky as she had on the day she met it.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Hermione asked.

Illyria stared at her, unblinking, for several seconds before it said, "I wished to walk the world. I sensed you were near and I . . ." It paused, and Hermione could almost see thoughts flickering across its face. "I wanted to speak with you."

"Well, all right," Hermione said. "Are you well?"

Again, Illyria paused. Then it turned and walked away from Hermione, who resigned herself to the fact that this conversation was going to resemble talking to her senile grandmother. "I am alone," it said.

"And how is everyone?" Hermione asked. "Wesley, Spike, Angel?"

The silence was longer this time. Hermione had just decided that Illyria wasn't going to answer, when it said, "They are dead."

Hermione blinked, feeling like she'd been slapped in the face. "Dead?"

Illyria turned back to face her, its entire face burning with anger. "Dead. The half-breeds, the mongrel, and Wesley. All gone. I remain."

It felt like her mouth wasn't working correctly. Hermione finally managed to say, "How?"

"The fool, Angel, provoked a fight he could not win. He challenged the Senior Partners. He was crushed. And Gunn, Spike and Wesley were crushed alongside him."

The office was silent for a few minutes. Illyria seemed content to stand there, staring at the potted plant Hermione had tucked in a corner of her office, while Hermione tried to adjust to the fact that the Wolfram and Hart team were gone. She had pictured them going back to Los Angeles, to their smog and glitz, and maybe even their redemption. Not this sudden end, lost in a hopeless fight.

"When?" she finally asked.

"Two weeks ago."

"Thank you for telling me."

Illyria gave her a brief nod. "I thought you might want to know."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Scowling, Illyria said, "Do not presume to pity me. I was once a king and I will be so again. Far more important than your pathetic lives, or theirs. I will raise my armies and the world will tremble before my name. I do not need _them_." But it didn't have its usual imperious ring.

"I didn't mean to presume," Hermione said, noting that Illyria's expression was almost sad. "What are you going to do?"

"I will walk. And I will rally my followers until I am ready to remake this world in my image."

Hermione paused, unsure how to respond. "Well, good luck with that," she said, aware of how awkward and inadequate it was to say that to a creature that claimed to be a god.

"I do not need it."

The office was silent again. Illyria turned away again and Hermione sat still, shocked and disbelieving. She had suffered losses before, terrible ones like Ron's murder, but the deaths of the Wolfram and Hart team seemed more . . . unwarranted, somehow. Maybe it was because she had been fighting a war these last ten years, and deaths were expected, even devastating ones like the kidnapping and murder of your fiance. But Angel and the rest of the team had just been going about their lives . . .

Hermione thought of Angel and his grim comments about war and wondered if their situations were that different, after all. Angel had been fighting his own war, and had apparently been fighting it longer than she had. He had, she realized, chosen to go "over the top" at a time and place of his own choosing.

Illyria turned back to her, scowling. "I wish to go now."

"Do you need an escort up to the Atrium?" Hermione asked, slightly inanely.

Illyria managed to give her a look that was more condescending than usual. "No." It waved a hand vertically in front of it, and the air rippled and sliced open. Illyria gave Hermione a long look, one that Hermione couldn't even begin to analyze, and then stepped through the gash, which slid shut behind it.

Hermione sat for several long moments, mulling over what Illyria had told her. Gone, all three of them, and Gunn, whoever he was. Snuffed out at the end of the fight. Had they even had a chance to make a difference?

_They made a difference for us_, Hermione thought.

"Genevieve," she said, startling herself, as an idea struck her.

Her assistant sounded composed, though, as she responded. "Yes, Minister."

"Tell the Minister that he's canceling his evening plans and having dinner with the group tonight, please. And tell Ginny Weasley the same thing. I'll call Harry myself."

* * *

Harry offered to host them for dinner when she called, privately relieving Hermione. She was the only one of them that was still living in her pre-victory flat, too busy to go flat-hunting. Remus had moved into the traditional Minister for Magic's residence, while Ginny had taken a flat in the Wizarding district surrounding Diagon Alley. Harry, however, had purchased a semidetached house in Canterbury, largely, Hermione suspected, to put some distance between himself and Grimmauld Place. Ginny, well-aware of Hermione's dubious skills in the kitchen, volunteered to help cook.

Hermione shut up her office at precisely six o'clock, having spent some time helping Genevieve rearrange her evening appointments. She worked her way through the security checkpoint and into the Atrium, casting a dismissive eye at the rebuilt Fountain of Magical Brethren. Its removal was a battle she hadn't yet won. Focusing on Harry's garden, she stepped into the Designated Apparating Area and Apparated –

– into the small shed down the bottom of the garden that Harry considerately kept clear as an Apparating point. Hermione walked up the back garden, skirting the large water feature put in by the previous owners, and tapped on the back door before going in. Ginny was already there, standing in the kitchen with Harry and looking remarkably domestic. Several empty pots – likely all the pots Harry owned – sat on the stove.

"I didn't start anything yet," Ginny said. "I didn't know if you had anything in mind. Genevieve sounded pretty firm when she called."

"Genevieve always sounds pretty firm," Harry said, retreating to the kitchen table.

"No, I didn't have anything in mind," Hermione said. "I thought I might be able to cook spaghetti . . . I really just wanted us all to be together."

Harry and Ginny shared a look at that, but didn't say anything. Despite the fact that the group – with the exception of Harry – all worked at the Ministry, they didn't actually see that much of one another. Ginny tended to spend her days down on the seventh level, and Hermione only saw Lupin when the entire Cabinet was called to meet.

Hermione started some water boiling, chatting with Ginny about events at the Ministry. Harry contributed comments from time to time, many of them bordering on the cynical; although the Ministry was now studded with people of whom he approved, he still had a long-seated distrust for the Ministry. In a quiet moment, Hermione looked at him and couldn't decide who had been more damaging: Lucius Malfoy or Cornelius Fudge.

Remus Lupin arrived half an hour later, looking a little sheepish and saying that he had been trapped in a meeting that he had been unable to escape. While Ginny and Hermione worked together to create a tomato cream sauce for the pasta, he and Harry managed to start an amiable conversation. Hermione watched them out of the corner of one eye, noting that there was much less hostility on Harry's part than there had been even a month ago.

Ginny discreetly moved to Hermione's other side, stirring a pot with her wand. "It's still hard for him," she said under her breath. "He's dealing with what he remembers."

"What does he remember?" Hermione murmured.

"He hasn't talked much about it. I think it's kind of a jumble to him. He says he remembers being alone the most."

"He knows we're sorry?"

"He knows it. That doesn't mean he believes it." Ginny gave Hermione a hard look. "How would you feel if your friends locked you in a house and abandoned you?"

Hermione sighed. It wasn't worth arguing with Ginny about this. "Do you think the pasta's done?"

Ginny leaned over the pot. "Oh, probably."

* * *

Hermione waited until dinner was over to bring up her visit from Illyria. Conversation over dinner was lively, kept going by Ginny and, surprisingly, Harry. They sat, forks abandoned on their plates, for a moment after dinner, conversation dwindling into silence. Then Hermione straightened and said, "Illyria visited me today."

"Oh?" Remus turned piercing interest on her.

"I think it was, for Illyria, a social call. It told me . . ." Hermione hesitated. "It told me Angel, Wesley and Spike are dead."

"Dead?" Ginny sat back, evidently as shocked as Hermione had been. "How?"

"It sounds like Angel picked a fight he couldn't win."

"When?" Remus asked.

"Two weeks ago, Illyria said."

There was silence around the table. Harry, who had known the Wolfram and Hart team the least, didn't look quite as stunned as Ginny and Lupin, but he still looked speechless.

"I can't believe they're gone," Ginny said. "I didn't think –"

"I admit I wasn't expecting it either," Remus said.

"I don't think," Hermione said, "this is one of the things you can expect."

On her right, Harry swallowed.

"I just – I think," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks turn pink, "it sounds like they went down fighting, and they were trying to make a difference. And what we've been doing – what we've done – we've done good. But I think we need to – to live like them. Live to make a difference."

Her words fell into a careful silence. Across the table, Remus was wearing the neutral expression he used for Cabinet meetings. Harry dropped his eyes to his plate, pushing around the remnants of his spaghetti with the back of his fork. Ginny watched Harry with a fierce, protective look that reminded Hermione of Molly Weasley.

". . . All right," Harry said.

Hermione looked at him quizzically. The neutral expression dropped off Lupin's face.

Harry was still looking at his plate, moving the same spaghetti back and forth. "Sixth year, Dumbledore and I had an argument about what the prophecy meant. He told me that yes, I had to fight Voldemort, but I had to because I wanted to, not because some prophecy meant I was destined to. And that's what I was living for after that, beating Voldemort, even in – in Grimmauld Place." His voice hitched a little.

"I really do regret that, Harry," Hermione said quietly. Ginny quelled her with a look.

Harry didn't appear to have heard her anyway. He continued, gathering steam, "And now that Voldemort's gone – well, I can't live to fight him anymore, can I? But I can live to fight what he left, all the Death Eaters and the pureblood nonsense. And if someone else tries to do like Voldemort, I'll fight him too."

He looked up from his plate, meeting Ginny's eyes. Hermione, watching Ginny, saw her face burning as intensely as Illyria's. "So all right," he said. "That's how I'll live. For good. Not for revenge, or justice, or survival. For good."

Lupin nodded. "You do your parents proud, Harry."

Hermione watched Harry crack a shaky, if relieved, smile at Lupin's words and knew then that despite the walls, the resistance, the inertia, they were going to succeed in her dream of rebuilding the Wizarding world. Harry would do it, and she would be at his side, helping him in whatever way she could.

She looked toward the future, and smiled.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Eleven chapters. 105,000 words. Six years. And with this, my time in Potter fandom is pretty much concluded. My thanks to everyone who favorited, reviewed, or added an alert, even during the long fallow years when it looked like I'd walked away without ever bringing this to a resolution. I'm a terrible author, but it meant a lot on the days when I was convinced I'd never write anything readable again to know that there were people out there who liked what I had done before.

kayjay216  
March 20, 2012


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